jltugtc 


HE  SAW  ONCE  MORE  HIS  LITTLE  GIRL  PLEADING 

WITH   HIM  TO  MEND  THE  DOLL  WITH 

THE  BROKEN  EYE"      (p.  275) 


BY 

CHARLES 


KLEIN 


NOVELISED  FROM  THE 
PLAY  AS  PRODUCED  BY 
DAVID  BELASCO 


ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY  JOHN   RAE 


NEW  YORK 

anh 

1917 


COPYRIGHT,  1909 
DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPACT 

AH  rights  reserved 
Published,  March,  1909 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


L 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED 
TO 

Batrib  ^Harftei 

BY    THE    AUTHOR 


Chapter  ©tie 

NTON  VON  EARWIG  rapped  on  the  conductor's 
desk  for  silence  and  laid  down  his  baton.  The 
hundred  men  constituting  the  Leipsic  Philhar 
monic  Orchestra  stopped  playing  as  if  by  magic,  and 
those  who  looked  up  from  their  music  saw  in  their 
leader's  face,  for  the  first  time  in  their  three  years' 
experience  under  his  direction,  a  pained  expression  of 
helplessness. 

"Either  I  can't  hear  you  this  morning,  or  the  first 
violins  are  late  in  attacking  and  the  wood  wind  drags 
— drags — drags." 

"What's  the  matter?  We've  played  this  a  hundred 
times,"  growled  Karlschmidt,  the  bass  clarionet 
player,  to  Poons,  the  Dutch  horn  soloist,  who  sat  at 
the  desk  next  to  him. 

Karlschmidt  was  a  socialist,  a  student  of  Karl  Marx, 
and  took  more  interest  in  communism  than  in  his  al 
lotted  share  of  the  score  of  Isolde's  Liebestodt.  In 
deed,  nearly  all  the  men  were  interested  in  something 
other  than  the  occupation  which  afforded  them  a 
living.  For  them  the  pleasure  of  music  had  died  in 
the  business  of  attaining  accuracy. 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Poons,  losing  Von  Bar- 
wig's  next  remark  in  trying  to  hear  what  Karlschmidt 
was  mumbling. 

"He  said  it's  his  own  fault,"  whispered  the  second 
flute. 


tc  Jlaster 

"He's  quite  right,"  assented  Karlschmidt. 

"Hush,  hush  I"  came  from  one  or  two  others.  Von 
Earwig  was  addressing  the  men  again,  and  they 
wanted  to  hear. 

"Let's  play;  cut  the  speeches  out,"  growled  Karl 
schmidt.  "For  God's  sake,  what's  he  saying  now?" 

"Damn  it !  How  can  we  hear  when  you  won't  keep 
quiet?"  blurted  a  Germanised  Englishman  who  had 
an  engagement  at  the  old  Rathaus  and  wanted  to  get 
away. 

"We're  dismissed,"  said  Poons,  who  couldn't  hear. 
But  the  men  at  the  violin  desks  down  front  were  rising 
and  putting  away  their  instruments,  and  the  others 
were  slowly  following  their  example. 

Karlschmidt's  face  expanded  into  a  smile;  the  pros 
pect  of  avoiding  the  unpleasant  grind  of  rehearsal  had 
restored  him  to  good  humour.  The  lines  of  men  were 
now  breaking  up  into  knots;  bows  were  being  loos 
ened,  violins  put  into  cases  and  brass  instruments  into 
bags,  while  laughing  and  chatting  became  general. 
Poons  looked  at  Von  Earwig,  who  still  stood  on  the 
small  dais,  staring  out  into  space,  and  he  saw  that 
something  was  the  matter.  He  loved  Von  Earwig ;  for 
years  before,  when  hard  times  had  sent  him  over  the 
border  from  Amsterdam  toward  the  German  music 
centres,  Von  Earwig  had  extended  him  a  helping  hand, 
indeed  had  almost  kept  him  from  starving  until  he  got 
an  engagement  in  one  of  ;he  minor  Dresden  theatres. 
Poons  was  grateful;  and  gratitude  is  a  form  of  love 
that  lies  deeper  than  mere  sympathy. 

"Can  I  do  something  for  you,  Anton?"  he  asked  a 

2 


Chapter 

few  moments  later,  as  he  stood  at  the  conductor's  desk. 
Von  Earwig  did  not  answer;  and  with  his  round  face, 
and  smiling  eyes  glancing  appealingly  at  his  con 
ductor,  Poons  stood  waiting  like  a  little  dog  that  pa 
tiently  wags  his  tail  in  hope  of  his  master's  recog 
nition.  Presently  he  shook  his  head  gravely  and 
sighed.  Surely  something  was  wrong,  for  Anton  was 
not  himself.  Never  before  had  he  stopped  rehearsal 
and  dismissed  his  men  on  the  morning  preceding  a 
concert  night,  and,  moreover,  the  night  of  the  first 
performance  of  a  new  symphony — Von  Earwig's  own 
work. 

The  men  were  rapidly  disappearing,  and  the 
Gewandhaus  concert  platform  was  almost  empty. 
Von  Earwig  seemed  deeply  interested  in  watching 
his  men  carry  off  their  instruments,  and  yet,  when 
Poons  looked  closely  into  his  face,  he  knew  that  the 
leader  did  not  see  that  which  he  was  apparently 
watching  so  closely. 

"Shall  I  wait  for  you,  Anton?"  ventured  Poons  fi 
nally.  As  if  to  remind  Von  Earwig  of  his  presence,  he 
touched  him  gently  on  the  arm.  Von  Earwig  started. 
A  look  of  recognition  came  into  his  eye,  and  with  it 
a  smile  that  metamorphosed  his  homely,  almost  ugly 
face  into  something  beyond  mere  beauty;  a  smile 
that  transformed  a  somewhat  commonplace  personal 
ity  into  an  appealing  and  compelling  individuality. 
There  is  no  need  to  describe  the  delicate,  sensitive, 
rugged  countenance,  which,  when  he  smiled,  radi 
ated  love  and  sympathy  for  his  fellow-beings  and 
made  him  what  is  ordinarily  described  as  magnetic. 

3 


QCije 

Poons  caught  this  smile,  and  his  own  broad  grin 
deepened  as  he  recognised  his  old  friend  again. 

"Come,  let's  go,"  Von  Earwig  said  briefly;  and 
without  another  word  they  walked  out  of  the 
Gewandhaus.  They  passed  the  statue  of  Mendelssohn 
erected  in  front  of  the  building,  walking  down  the  Au 
gust  Platz  as  far  as  the  University.  Poons  noticed 
that  unusual  things  were  happening  that  morning. 
First,  his  friend  was  walking  rapidly,  so  rapidly  that 
he  himself  almost  had  to  trot  to  keep  up  with  him; 
second,  he  was  muttering  to  himself,  a  most  unusual 
thing  for  Von  Earwig  to  do;  third,  every  now  and 
then  a  look  of  intense  hatred  beclouded  his  face;  and 
last,  he  was  not  talking  over  the  events  of  the  morn 
ing  with  his  friend.  Furthermore,  so  engrossed  was 
Von  Earwig  in  his  own  thoughts  that  he  passed 
Schumann's  monument  without  lifting  his  hat,  and 
Bismarck's  monument  without  shaking  his  fist; 
and  these  two  things  Von  Earwig  had  done,  day 
in  and  day  out,  ever  since  Poons  had  known  him. 
Finally,  when  at  the  Thomas  Kirche  Poons  ven 
tured  to  ask,  "Where  are  we  going?"  Von  Bar- 
wig  stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  the  street  he  was 
crossing. 

"That's  it,  that's  it!"  he  said  excitedly;  "where  am 
I  going?  Where  am  I  going?"  and  he  looked  at 
Poons  as  if  he  expected  that  his  frightened  friend 
would  answer  his  question. 

Poons  took  his  friend's  arm  and  pushed  him  out  of 
the  road  on  to  the  pavement  just  in  time  to  save  him 
from  being  grazed  by  a  cab  which  rapidly  whisked 


C&apter  (Erne 

by  them.  Then  he  stopped  and  laid  his  hand  on  Von 
Earwig's  shoulder. 

"What's  the  matter,  Anton?"  he  said  soothingly. 
"Can't  you  tell  me?  In  God's  name,  what  has  hap 
pened?" 

Anton  looked  at  Poons.  The  unexpected  had  hap 
pened;  his  devoted  follower  had  dared  to  question 
him.  The  shock  almost  awoke  him  to  a  sense  of  his 
surroundings,  and  the  ghost  of  his  old  smile  stole  over 
his  face  as  he  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"That's  it!"  he  gasped.  "I  don't  know!  I  don't 
know!  It's  the  uncertainty  that  is  killing  me.  By 
God,  August,  I'll  kill  him  1  I'll  kill  him !"  And  then 
Poons  understood. 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  whither  neither  of  them 
knew.  It  was  now  Poons's  turn  to  walk  faster  than 
his  companion  and  to  mutter  to  himself.  His  face 
had  lost  its  grin,  and  he  was  no  longer  conscious 
of  his  immediate  surroundings.  After  they  had 
passed  Auerbach's  cellar  he  could  contain  him 
self  no  longer,  and  an  explosion  took  place.  He 
stopped  Von  Earwig  in  the  middle  of  the  pave 
ment,  grabbing  him  by  the  arm,  and  in  a  hoarse, 
gutteral  voice,  choked  with  emotion,  shouted, 
"Anton!  Anton!" 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  his  friend  in  mute  surprise. 
Poons,  oblivious  of  the  bystanders — who  were  looking 
to  see  why  a  man  should  shout  so  unnecessarily — went 
on: 

"By  God,  Anton,  I  kill  him,  too!" 

This  appealed  to  Von  Earwig's  sense  of  humour, 

I, 


(Efje  ;$ltt$(c  Jftlastfer 

and  he  burst  into  laughter,  a  laughter  perilously  near 
to  tears.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  ask  Poons  what 
he  knew  or  what  he  had  heard.  The  fact  that  what 
was  preying  on  his  mind,  his  carefully  guarded  secret, 
was  common  property  did  not  strike  him  at  that  mo 
ment.  He  merely  thought  that  his  friend  was  agree 
ing  with  him  in  the  sentiment  of  killing  "some  one" 
as  he  agreed  with  him  in  all  matters  of  music, 
philosophy  and  art.  In  Anton  Von  Earwig's  condition 
of  mind  at  that  moment,  had  it  occurred  to  him  that 
Poons  knew  the  awful  fact  that  was  confronting  him, 
he  would  have  taken  him  by  the  throat  and  then  and 
there  compelled  him  to  confess  what  he  knew  or 
thought  he  knew;  but  he  walked  on  in  silence,  fol 
lowed  by  his  devoted  friend. 

They  turned  up  a  small  side  street  of  the  August 
Platz  and  stopped  in  front  of  the  house  where 
Anton  Von  Earwig  lived.  It  was  the  centre  of 
a  row  of  large  modern  apartment  houses  where 
lived  for  the  most  part  the  art  world  of  Leipsic, 
and  this  world  included  beside  the  rich,  professional 
element,  the  wealthy  publishers,  of  whom  in  this 
important  centre  of  Germany  there  were  a  large 
number.  As  Von  Earwig  stood  waiting  for  Pooris 
to  enter  with  him,  he  noticed  Poons's  outstretched' 
hand. 

"Aren't  you  coming  in?"  he  asked.  Poons  shook 
his  head. 

"I'd  better  not,"  he  said  simply. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Von  Earwig. 

"Because,"  Poons  faltered.  He  did  not  want  to 

6 


Cfjapter 

tell  his  friend  that  at  such  times  as  these  it  is  better 
for  a  man  to  be  alone  with  his  thoughts. 

"Why  not?"  cried  Von  Earwig;  but  Poons  did  not 
speak.  He  stood  like  some  dumb  animal  awaiting 
his  master's  lash;  and  then  Von  Earwig  knew  that 
'Poons  knew. 

"Come !"  said  Von  Earwig  in  a  low,  hard  voice,  with 
such  firmness  and  determination  that  Poons,  in  spite 
of  himself,  was  compelled  to  go  forward.  Silently 
they  walked  up  three  flights,  neither  of  them  noticing 
the  salute  of  the  porter  as  they  passed  him.  Anton 
took  out  his  keys  and  opened  a  door  which  led  into 
a  magnificently  furnished  musical  studio,  the  largest 
apartment  in  Koenigs  Strasse.  It  was  here  that  he 
and  Madam  Elene  Von  Earwig,  his  wife,  held  their 
musical  receptions  and  entertained  the  great  German 
and  foreign  artists  that  came  to  Leipsic.  These  re 
ceptions  were  famous  affairs,  and  invitations  were 
eagerly  sought,  not  only  by  musical  celebrities,  but 
by  such  of  the  nobility  as  happened  to  be  in  town. 
Members  of  the  royal  family  had  been  known  to 
grace  more  than  one  of  these  affairs;  for  though  a 
conductor  of  the  Leipsic  Philharmonic  is  not 
necessarily  a  rich  man,  his  social  position  is  un 
questioned. 

Perhaps  some  such  fleeting  thoughts  as  these — 
glimpses  into  the  past  like  those  of  a  drowning  man — 
came  into  Anton  Von  Earwig's  consciousness  as  he 
stepped  quietly  to  the  door  leading  from  the  reception- 
room  and  studio  and  passed  into  the  corridor  toward 
the  living  apartments.  He  listened  intently;  but  hear- 

7 


Jflusic 

Ing  nothing,  closed  the  door  quietly,  and  somewhat 
to  Poons's  alarm  turned  the  key  in  the  lock. 

uNow  tell  me,"  he  demanded,  in  a  voice  that  was 
as  strange  as  it  was  determined;  "what  do  you  know? 
Sit  down."  This  last  was  a  direct  command. 

Poons  felt  that  nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  silence^. 
He  had,  so  to  speak,  put  his  foot  in  it  by  allowing 
himself,  through  sympathy  in  his  friend's  affairs,  to 
betray  the  fact  that  he  knew  what  was  troubling  him. 
He  felt,  therefore,  that  by  making  a  clean  breast  of 
it,  he  might  not  only  mitigate  Von  Earwig's  sufferings 
but  enable  him  to  see  what  the  world,  or  at  least  the 
world  of  Leipsic,  had  seen  for  some  time. 

Poons  was  not  a  rapid  thinker,  but  these  thoughts 
flashed  through  his  mind  in  less  time  than  it  took  him 
to  obey  Von  Earwig.  He  sat  down  in  the  chair  indi 
cated  by  his  friend  and  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

"What  do  you  know?"  repeated  Von  Earwig. 
Poons  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue,  as  if  to 
enable  him  to  speak;  but  words  would  not  come.  He 
loved  Anton;  he  knew  that  what  he  had  to  say  would 
make  him  suffer;  and  that  he  could  not  bear  to  see. 
He  tried  to  speak,  faltered  "I  cannot,  I  cannot!"  and 
burst  into  tears.  Von  Earwig  walked  up  to  the  win 
dow  and  gazed  steadily  into  the  street. 

"It's  more  serious  than  I  thought,"  he  said  after  a 
few  moments'  pause,  giving  Poons  time  to  recover  in 
some  slight  degree  from  his  emotion.  "It  is  serious, 
eh?" 

"Yes,"  assented  Poons,  relieved  that  Anton's  ques 
tion  required  only  a  monosyllable  for  an  answer. 


Chapter  ©ne 

"Very  serious,  eh?"  asked  Von  Earwig,  steeling  him 
self  for  the  answer  he  expected. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  nodded  Poons,  gulping  down  a 
sob. 

"The  worst,  eh?" 

"God,  you  know  what  scandal-mongers  are;  what 
people  say  —  when  they  do  say  —  how  they  talk! 
They  have  no  mercy,  no  brains,  no  sense !  What  is 
a  woman's  reputation  to  them  ?  They  repeat,  they — 
they  —  the  wretches  —  the  murderers — "  Poons 
seemed  to  be  trying  to  shift  the  blame  on  a  number 
of  people;  it  was  easier  for  him  to  generalise  at  this 
moment  than  to  answer  his  questioner  straightfor 
wardly. 

"Do  they  say  that  my  wife — that  Madam  Von  Bar- 
wig  neglects  her  home?" 

"Yes." 

"And  her  child?" 

"No,  no!"  eagerly  interrupted  Poons,  quite  joyous 
at  being  able  to  deny  something  at  last. 

"Do  they  say  that  she — neglects  me,  that  she  doesn't 
care  for  me,  that — "  Von  Earwig  spoke  now  with 
an  effort;  "that  she  no  longer  loves  me?" 

Poons  nodded  affirmatively.  He  was  summoning  up 
all  his  courage  for  the  question  that  he  knew  was' 
coming;  and  it  came. 

"Do  they  say,  do  they  mention — his  name?" 

Poons  again  nodded  affirmatively. 

"Ahlmann?" 

"Yes." 

Von  Parwig  held  his  breath  for  a  moment;  then 

9 


ic  faster 

literally  heaved  a  sigh.  What  he  most  feared  had 
indeed  come  upon  him.  The  world  knew;  his  heart 
was  on  his  sleeve  for  daws  to  peck  at. 

"How  long  have  you  known  this?" 

Poons  hung  his  head,  he  could  not  answer.  He  was 
longing  to  throw  his  arms  around  his  friend's  neck 
and  cry  on  his  shoulder;  and  he  could  think  of  noth 
ing  to  say  but  "Poor  Anton!  Poor  Anton!" 

"Don't  pity  me,  damn  you!  don't  pity  me!"  burst 
out  Von  Earwig.  "And  don't  sit  there  bleating  like 
a  lost  sheep  of  Israel !  I'm  not  a  woman — tears  are 
no  panacea  for  suffering  like  mine.  Put  the  world 
back  five  years,  restore  for  me  the  past  few  months; 
then  I  could  live  life  over  againr  then  I  could  see  and 
know  and  act  differently.  Don't  sit  there  like  a  wail 
ing  widow,  moaning  and  moping  over  other  people's 
miseries  \  That  isn't  sympathy,  that's  weakness !  If 
you  want  to  help  me,  tell  me  to  be  a  man,  to  face 
my  troubles  like  a  man;  don't  cry  like  a  baby!" 

"That's  right,"  assented  Poons,  "go  on;  it  does 
you  good.  Give  it  to  me,  I  deserve  it!" 

"Poor  old  Poons,  you  do  your  best !  Ah,  your  love 
does  me  good,  old  friend;  but  there's  hell  to  face! 
,She  threatens  to  leave  me,  to  leave  me  because  I  re 
fused  to  allow  him  to  come  here.  I've  warned  him ! 
And  if  he  shows  his  face  in  Leipsic  again,  I'll  kill  him ! 
Look!"  Von  Earwig  felt  in  his  inner  pocket.  "Now 
you  can  understand  why  I  couldn't  hold  the  men  to 
gether  at  rehearsal  this  morning.  My  mind  was  with 
her,  with  him.  Ha !  the  mother  of  my  little  girl, 
my  little  Helene!  That's  the  pity  of  it,  Poons,  that's 

10 


Cfjaptec 

the  pity  of  it!"  and  now  it  was  Von  Earwig's  turn 
to  show  weakness.  "That's  what  I  can't  understand. 
A  woman's  love  for  a  man,  yes,  it  can  go  here,  there, 
anywhere;  but  the  mother  instinct,  how  can  that 
change?" 

"Doesn't  she  love  her  little  girl  any  more?"  asked 
Poons  in  simple  astonishment. 

"She  loves  him,"  said  Anton.  "Can  there  be  room 
for  the  mother  love  with  such  love  as  he  inspires?" 

He  looked  at  the  letter  in  his  hand  and  passed  it 
to  Poons.  "This  morning,  just  as  I  was  leaving  for 
rehearsal,  the  servant  handed  me  this.  My  little  girl 
is  all  I  have  left  now."  His  voice  choked  with  emo 
tion  as  he  turned  once  more  toward  the  window. 

At  the  sight  of  his  friend's  suffering  Poons  could 
no  longer  contain  himself,  and  he  fairly  blubbered  as 
he  read  the  following: 

"DEAR  ANTON  :  Henry  Ahlmann  is  in  Leipsic  and 
I  have  seen  him.  I  cannot  live  a  lie,  so  I  am  going 
away  with  him.  Believe  me,  it  is  better  so;  I  feel 
that  you  can  never  forgive  me  and  that  we  can  never 
again  be  happy  together.  Kiss  my  darling  Helene 
for  me,  and  oh,  Anton,  don't  tell  the  little  one  her 
unhappy  mother's  miserable  history  until  she  is  old 
enough  to  understand !  «<ELENE  VQN  BARWIG;, 

"Well,  that's  conclusive,  isn't  it?"  asked  Von  Earwig 
grimly  as  soon  as  Poons  finished  reading. 

Poons's  voice  failed  him.  Hot,  scalding  tears 
were  fairly  raining  down  his  cheeks  as  the  letter  fell 
out  of  his  trembling  hands  and  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

"Well,  what's  to  be  done;  what's  to  be  done?" 

ii 


(STfje  Jfflugfc  JWasfer 

"Then  she  has  gone?" 

Von  Earwig  nodded.  "I  suppose  so!  I  don't 
know,  I  can't  tell,"  he  said  helplessly.  "I  didn't  try 
to  stop  her,"  he  went  on  after  a  pause.  "What's  the 
use,  to  what  end  ?  Oh,  I  don't  want  the  entire  blame 
Jto  rest  on  her  shoulders !  A  beautiful  woman,  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  a  pampered,  petted,  spoiled  child, 
craving  constant  excitement;  and  he,  a  handsome, 
young  American,  rich  and  romantic.  I,  as  you  knowf 
am  a  mature  man  of  forty,  devoted  to  an  art  in  which 
she  takes  little  interest.  I  introduced  them.  Ha! 
that's  the  irony  of  it !  I  brought  them  together,  I  left 
them  together,  I — it's  my  fault,  Poons — my  fault !  I 
neglected  her  for  my  work.  With  me,  all  was  mu 
sic:  the  compositions,  the  rehearsal,  the  concert,  the 
pupil,  the  conservatory,  the  opera,  the  singer,  the 
player.  He  used  to  take  her  to  my  concerts;  and  I, 
— fool,  fool — encouraged  him,  for  it  gave  me  more 
time  to  devote  to  my  art.  An  artist  is  a  selfish  dog ! 
He  must  be,  or  there  is  no  art.  What  could  I  expect  ? 
I  am  fifteen  years  older  than  she;  ugly " 

"No,  no !"  blurted  out  Poons. 

"Misshapen,  undersized " 

"No,  no!" 

"My  friend  can  lie,  but  my  looking-glass  doesn't. 
I  know,  I  know!  God,  how  will  it  all  end?  How 
will  it  all  end?" 

At  this  point  the  door  shook  a  little  as  though  some 
one  were  trying  to  get  in. 

"She's  come  back!"  almost  gasped  Anton,  and 
walking  firmly  to  the  door,  he  unlocked  and  opened 

12 


Chapter  ©nt 

it.  As  he  did  so,  a  little  fairy  creature  between  three 
and  four  years  of  age,  with  golden,  flaxen  curls  and 
blue  eyes,  bounded  into  the  room,  calling  out,  "Papa ! 
Papa!  Where  is  oo?  Where  is  oo?" 

Von  Earwig  was  on  his  knees  in  a  moment,  and  the 
child  threw  her  left  arm  around  his  neck  and  hugged 
him  so  tightly  that  the  little  doll  she  held  in  her  right 
hand  was  almost  crushed  between  them. 

"Helene,  Helene!  my  poor,  motherless  little  baby!n 
And  then  for  the  first  time  Von  Earwig  gave  way  to 
tears. 

"We  are  alone,  alone,  alone!  Oh,  God!  Oh, 
God!"  he  sobbed  as  he  rocked  from  side  to  side  in  his 
agony.  Poons  crept  softly  out  of  the  room  and  closed 
the  door  gently  after  him. 


Chapter 

ST  was  past  seven  o'clock  that  evening  when  Poons 
returned  to  Von  Earwig's  apartment  on  his  way 
to  the  Gewandhaus  concert.  His  old  overcoat 
buttoned  tightly  over  his  well-worn  dress  suit  covered 
a  palpitating  heart;  for  Poons  was  afraid.  A  few 
minutes  before,  when  he  had  kissed  his  motherly  wife 
good-bye  and  told  her  to  take  good,  extra  good  care 
of  their  little  son  August,  she  had  noticed  that  his 
hand  was  trembling.  And  when  he  tried  to  account 
for  his  nervous  condition  by  reminding  her  that  Anton 
Von  Earwig's  new  symphony  was  to  be  played  that 
night  and  that  a  member  of  the  Royal  family  was  to 
be  present  on  the  occasion,  she  had  shaken  her  head 
gravely,  accusing  him  of  being  a  foolish,  timid  old 
boy.  It  needed  all  the  courage  he  could  muster  up  to 
enable  him  to  ring  the  door-bell  of  Von  Earwig's 
dwelling.  There  was  such  a  death-like  stillness  that 
Poons  thought  for  a  moment  no  one  was  there;  he 
dreaded  he  knew  not  what.  As  he  stood  listening  to 
the  silence,  he  thought  he  heard  a  child's  laughter,  and 
JJhe  sighed  in  relief.  The  servant  came  to  the  door, 
a  sleepy-eyed  German  madchen  as  strong  as  an  ox  and 
nearly  as  stupid.  "Oh,  it's  Herr  Poons,"  she  said. 

"Come  in.    I  tell  Herr  Von  Earwig " 

"Is  he — is  he?  How  is  he?"  faltered  Poons,  much 
relieved  that  the  girl  showed  no  evidence  of  acquaint 
ance  with  the  real  condition  of  her  master's  mind. 

M 


Chapter 

"I  tell  him,"  repeated  the  girl  stolidly,  without  an 
swering  his  question. 

Closing  the  hall  door,  she  ushered  him  into  the 
studio  and  left  him  standing  there.  Poons  looked 
at  his  watch;  it  was  a  quarter  past  seven.  He  still 
had  fifteen  minutes  to  spare  before  the  concert  en 
gagement,  which  began  at  eight  o'clock,  called  him 
to  the  Gewandhaus. 

While  he  was  wondering  what  he  could  say  to  his 
friend,  the  servant  opened  the  door  leading  to  the 
living  apartments  of  the  family  and  intimated  that 
he  should  come  in.  Poons  passed  through  a  mag 
nificently  furnished  drawing-room  and  library,  and 
thence  into  the  dining-room. 

"This  way,"  said  the  girl,  opening  the  dining-room 
door,  beyond  which  was  a  passage  leading  to  the  kitch 
en  and  bedrooms.  Poons  looked  surprised,  and  the 
girl  hastened  to  say : 

"Herr  Von  Earwig  is  in  the  nursery." 

"Ah,  of  course,"  nodded  Poons,  as  he  followed  her. 

Not  very  observant  usually,  Poons  noticed  that  the 
dinner  table  wa.s  set  for  two  persons.  Both  places 
were  undisturbed  and  the  food  was  untouched. 

"He  has  not  eaten,"  thought  Poons.  "Of  course 
she  is  not  here !  Oh,  God !  that  is  the  tragedy  of  it ! 
The  empty  chair,  always  the  empty  chair — it  is  like 
death!" 

As  the  nursery  door  opened  Poons  heard  the  sound 
of  voices  and  laughter  and,  to  his  utter  astonishment, 
saw  his  friend  Von  Earwig  on  the  floor  playing  with 
little  Helene's  dolls'  house.  Helene  was  shrieking 


JHustc 

with  childish  laughter  because  Von  Earwig  pretended 
to  be  angry  with  one  of  her  dolls  which  would  not  eat 
the  cake  he  tried  to  make  it  swallow. 

As  Von  Earwig  saw  his  friend,  a  look  of  intense 
pain  crossed  his  face,  but  he  forced  himself  to  smile 
and  say : 

"Come  in,  Herr  Doctor  Poons,  and  mend  this  little 
girl's  eye.  See,  I've  given  her  cake  to  eat,  but  it  won't 
do  her  eye  any  good !" 

Helene  laughed  gleefully  at  the  idea  of  cake  being 
good  for  a  broken  eye. 

"Good  gracious,  how  did  the  eye  fall  out?"  said  Dr. 
Poons,  shaking  his  head  gravely. 

"She  fell  down  and  I  kicked  it,"  lisped  the  little 
one.  "I  kicked  it,"  she  laughed,  unconscious  that  she 
had  committed  an  unprovoked  assault  on  her  play 
thing.  "Mend  it;  oh,  please  mend  it!" 

Poons  shook  his  head  gravely.  The  child  mistook  this 
for  a  confession  of  his  inability  to  do  what  she  wished. 

"Mamma  '11  fix  it  when  she  comes  home.  She  won't 
be  long,  will  she?"  said  the  child,  somewhat  tearfully. 
She  had  asked  the  question  many  times,  and  her  father 
seemed  unable  to  answer  her. 

"I  am  trying  to  make  her  forget,"  said  Anton 
'savagely  to  Poons,  in  answer  to  his  look  of  painful 
inquiry.  "She  must  forget  soon;  I've  been  with  her 
ever  since  you  left  me  this  morning."  His  arm  stole 
around  the  child's  neck,  and  drawing  her  to  him 
gently,  he  kissed  her  again  and  again  with  such  sad, 
lingering  tenderness  *k*t  the  ever-ready  tears  welled 

16 


Cfjapter 

up  into  Poons's  eyes,  and  he  turned  his  head  to  con 
ceal  them.  The  child  struggled  to  free  herself. 

"Papa  so  rough,  eh?  Well,  he  won't  be,  or  Herr 
Poons  will  beat  him,  eh?" 

"Surely,"  assented  Poons, 

"Papa  will  be  so  gentle  and  so  kind,"  went  on  Von 
Earwig  tenderly.  "He'll  love  his  little  girl  as  no 
little  girl  in  this  wide,  wide  world  was  ever  loved 
before,  eh?" 

Little  Helene  did  not  understand,  and  as  she  had 
nothing  at  this  precise  moment  to  occupy  her  atten 
tion,  she  answered  him  by  asking  the  one  question  that 
absorbed  her  mind,  "Where's  mamma?" 

Von  Earwig  and  Poons  looked  at  each  other  help 
lessly.  Apart  from  the  tragedy  of  two  men  trying  to 
comfort  a  little  child  that  had  lost  its  parent,  there 
remained  in  Von  Earwig's  mind  a  sense  of  the  utter 
inability  of  the  masculine  individuality  to  fill  the  place 
of  mother  in  the  child's  heart.  In  after  years, 
Von  Earwig  always  remembered  the  sinking  sensation 
he  felt  when  this  fact  came  home  to  him  in  full  force. 

"Well,  one  thing,"  said  Anton,  as  he  swallowed 
something  that  came  in  his  throat  and  threatened  to 
choke  him,  "one  thing,  she  was  kind  to  the  little  one; 
•she  was  a  kind  mother,  eh?" 

"Kind?  kind?"  began  Poons  fiercely.     "Is  it  kind 

Von  Earwig  silenced  him  with  a  look. 

"Yes,  she  was  a  good  mother,"  he  admitted  concili- 
atingly.  "But,  by  God,  if  we  don't  go  we  shall  be 
late  I  Phew  I"  he  whistled  as  he  looked  at  his  watch, 


JWusitt  faster 

"half  past  seven."     Von  Earwig  sat  still  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"Half  past  seven?  Yes."  Then,  as  if  it  were 
slowly  dawning  upon  him  that  he  had  duties,  he  arose, 
dusting  his  knees  mechanically. 

"Half  past  seven,  yes.  It  begins  at  eight,  eh?  and 
I  must  dress.  Yes,  I  suppose  I  must  dress!" 

The  little  girl  was  now  putting  her  dolls  back  into 
the  dolls'  house ;  the  doorway  was  blocked  up  and  she 
was  pushing  one  through  a  broken  window  in  the 
little  house  as  Von  Earwig  caught  her  in  his  arms  and 
caressed  her. 

"How  can  I  leave  her?  Good  God,  how  can  I  leave 
her?"  he  groaned.  He  stroked  her  face,  her  hair, 
and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"She's  all  I  have,  all;  she's  all  I  want.  I  won't  go 
to-night,  I  won't  leave  her,  do  you  hear?  Let  Ruhl- 
meyer  conduct  to-night.  I  can't  go,  I  can't  leave  her 
alone!  Suppose  something  were  to  happen  to  her?" 

"But  you  must  go!"  said  Poons  firmly;  desperation 
had  given  him  courage.  "You  must  go!" 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  him  in  surprise ;  Poons's  tone 
sobered  him  a  little. 

"For  her  sake  you  must  work,"  went  on  Poons, 
gaining  courage  as  he  saw  that  his  words  had  an 
effect  on  his  friend. 

"Yes,  I  must  work,"  assented  Von  Earwig,  feeling 
the  force  of  Poons's  words.  "Shall  I  go,  little  Helene, 
my  little  darling  ?  Shall  I  go  ?" 

"Yes,  go  and  tell  mamma  to  come,"  was  the  little 
one's  reply. 

18 


Chapter 

"Come,  hurry,  Anton!  You  must  dress,  you  have 
barely  five  minutes:  five  to  dress,  ten  to  get  to  the 
Gewandhaus." 

"Ha!   they  can  wait!"   said  Von  Earwig  grimly. 

"Prince  Mecklenburg  Strelitz,  the  Kaiser,  all  Ger- 

^many  can  wait,  while  I  mend  the  strings  of  my  heart  1" 

The  nurse-maid  came  in  and  suggested  that  it  was 
time  to  put  little  Frdulein  to  bed.  Poons  looked  at  her 
closely ;  her  eyelids  were  red,  for  she  had  been  crying. 

"Take  good  care  of  the  little  Fraulein"  said  Von 
Barwig  as  he  handed  her  over  to  the  maid.  It  was 
long  past  her  bedtime,  and  the  little  child  had  almost 
fallen  asleep  in  her  father's  arms. 

"Let  me  kiss  her  just  once  more;  I  won't  wake  her 
up!" 

The  girl  burst  into  tears  as  Von  Barwig  bent  over 
the  child,  kissing  her  tenderly;  then  she  hurried  into 
the  next  room  with  her  precious  charge. 

"She  knows?"  inquired  Poons. 

"Yes,"  nodded  Von  Barwig;  and  then,  with  a  sigh, 
"She  knows." 

Five  minutes  later,  Von  Barwig,  accompanied  by 
Poons,  left  the  house  and  hurriedly  took  a  cab  to  the 
concert  hall. 


19 


Cfwpter 

was  noticed  by  more  than  one  member  of  the 
Leipsic  Philharmonic  Orchestra  that  Herr  Di 
rector  Von  Earwig  was  in  unusually  high  spirits 
that  evening.  Many  attributed  it  to  the  fact  that  he 
was  nervous  because  of  the  first  production  of  his 
new  symphony.  Karlschmidt  hinted  to  his  deskmate 
that  Von  Earwig  was  nervous  and  was  trying  to  con 
ceal  it  by  pretending  to  be  delighted  with  everything 
and  everybody.  This  was  probably  true  in  a  measure ; 
at  all  events,  when  he  came  into  the  artists'  room  at 
the  Gewandhaus  at  about  five  minutes  to  eight,  he 
shook  hands  with  everybody,  joked  with  his  men,  and 
talked  almost  incessantly,  as  if  he  wanted  to  keep  at 
high  pressure.  Poons  watched  him  closely.  Von 
Earwig  was  unusually  pale,  and  as  he  slapped  his  con 
cert  meister  on  the  back  Poons  noticed  that,  though 
his  face  wore  a  smile,  his  lips  quivered. 

"For  heaven's  sake,"  he  heard  him  say  to  the  leader 
of  the  second  violins,  "don't  play  the  pizzicato  in  the 
third  movement  as  if  you  were  picking  up  eggs!'* 
'Poons  rejoiced  that  his  friend  could  forget  so 
easily. 

It  was,  however,  when  Von  Earwig  walked  out  on 
the  platform  to  the  dais,  bowed  to  the  immense  audi 
ence,  and  turned  to  his  men,  that  the  deadly  pallor 
of  his  face  was  most  apparent.  Some  of  the  audience 
noticed  it  as  he  acknowledged  the  applause  he  received. 

20 


Chapter  (Eftree 

There  was  not  a  tremor  of  hand  or  muscle,  not  an 
undecided  movement;  merely  a  deadly  pallor  of 
countenance  as  if  he  no  longer  had  blood  in  his  veins, 
but  ice.  The  men  felt  the  absence  of  the  compelling 
^  force  that  always  emanated  from  him,  that  seemed  to 
ooze  from  his  baton ;  that  psychic  something  that  com 
pelled  the  player  to  feel  as  his  director  felt — the 
force  we  call  magnetism.  The  firmness  of  mouth 
showed  that  the  determination  to  dominate  was  still 
there,  but  the  absence  of  that  mental  power  left  only 
the  automatic  rhythm  and  swing,  sans  heart  sans  soul, 
sans  feeling.  The  beat  was  the  beat  of  the  finely 
trained  academic  conductor,  but  the  genius  of  it  was 
gone.  The  ghost  of  a  departed  Von  Earwig  was 
beating  time  for  the  Von  Barwfg  that  had  lived  and 
died  that  night. 

Perhaps  the  audience  did  not  feel  this  as  much 
as  the  men  did,  for  they  applauded  heartily  at 
the  end  of  the  opening  number.  They  did  notice 
that  Von  Earwig  did  not  acknowledge  their  applause 
and  seemed  to  be  oblivious  of  their  presence.  The 
fact  that  an  ultra-fashionable  audience  was  present, 
including  a  prince  and  princess  of  the  Royal  Family, 
and  the  elite  of  Leipsic,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Ameri- 
'can  Ambassador,  Mr.  Cruger,  apparently  did  not  af 
fect  Von  Earwig  in  the  least.  This  appealed  very 
much  to  the  democratic  instinct  of  Mr.  Cruger,  and 
at  the  end  of  the  first  part  he  asked  his  friend, 
Prince  Holberg-Meckstein,  to  present  him  to  the  con 
ductor. 

"I  will  present  him  to  you"  said  his  highness,  care- 

21 


Cfje 

fully  readjusting  the  pronouns;  and  he  sent  for  Von 
Earwig. 

"A  curious  personality!"  remarked  Mr.  Cruger  to 
the  prince  as  Von  Earwig  bowed  himself  out  of  the 
box  a  few  minutes  later. 

"Yes,  and  a  fine  musician,"  said  the  prince.  "But 
he's  not  at  his  best  to-night." 

As  Von  Earwig  passed  through  the  artists'  room, 
Poons  approached  him.  Anton  motioned  him  away 
as  if  to  say,  "Don't  speak  to  me,"  and  Poons  walked 
sadly  away. 

The  second  part  of  the  programme  was  to  begin 
with  Von  Earwig's  latest  work. 

"Quick,  put  the  score  of  the  symphony  on  my  desk," 
he  said  to  the  librarian,  who  happened  to  be  passing 
at  the  moment.  "I  intended  to  conduct  it  from 
memory;  but  I  have  forgotten." 

As  the  librarian  placed  the  score  on  the  conductor's 
desk,  he  thought  it  strange  that  a  man  who  had  been 
rehearsing  from  memory  for  weeks  should  so  sud 
denly  forget. 

Von  Earwig  opened  the  score  a  few  moments  later, 
raised  his  baton,  and  the  wood  wind  began  the  new 
work.  He  conducted  as  mechanically  as  before,  for 
his  dead  heart  could  pump  no  enthusiasm  into  his 
work,  and  the  audience  suddenly  felt  a  sense  of  disap 
pointment.  But  after  the  first  few  passages  had  been 
played  the  leader  lost  his  self-consciousness  and  forgot 
his  surroundings.  He  began  to  feel  the  music,  to  com 
pose  it  again,  and  the  mechanism  of  the  conductor  was 
los*-  in  the  inspiration  of  the  composer.  It  was  a 

22 


Chapter  SCijree 

beautiful  movement  marked  andante  sostenuto — » 
pathos  itself,  and  Von  Earwig  drew  from  his  men  their 
very  souls,  forcing  them  in  turn  to  draw  out  of  their 
strings  all  the  suffering  he  had  been  going  through  for 
the  past  few  days.  Then  a  curious  psychic  phenome 
non  took  place.  Von  Earwig  completely  forgot  him* 
self,  his  audience,  his  orchestra;  he  was  living  in  his 
music,  and  the  music  took  him  back  to  the  precise 
moment  of  inspiration.  Once  more  he  was  in  his 
studio,  seated  at  his  work  table,  looking  up  from  his 
score  into  the  face  of  his  beloved  Elene.  She  was 
smiling  at  him,  encouraging  him  to  go  on  with  his 
work,  the  work  that  she  had  prophesied  would  make 
him  famous  and  her  the  happiest  of  women.  This 
dream  had  almost  the  appearance  of  reality  to  Von 
Earwig.  Indeed  it  was  real,  as  real  as  reality  itself, 
until  the  wild  applause  of  an  enthusiastic  audience 
awoke  him  alike  to  the  consciousness  of  the  success 
of  his  work  and  the  hopeless  misery  of  his  present 
position ;  his  success  in  his  music  only  accentuating  the 
failure  his  life  had  become. 

The  playing  of  this  movement  made  such  an  im 
pression  that  Von  Earwig  was  compelled  again  and 
again  to  acknowledge  the  plaudits  of  the  audience. 
Indeed,  they  wanted  him  to  repeat  it,  but  this  he  stead 
fastly  refused  to  do.  There  was  a  slight  intermis 
sion  between  the  playing  of  the  first  and  the  second 
parts  of  the  symphony,  and  during  this  pause  the 
librarian  handed  a  note  to  Von  Earwig,  whispering 
to  him,  "You  must  read  it.  The  woman  is  outside  iri 
hysterics." 

23 


TOfje  JWttstc 

"What  woman?"  demanded  Von  Earwig,  his 
thoughts  reverting  to  his  wife. 

Trembling  and  fearful  of  he  knew  not  what  the 
leader  read  the  following  hastily  scrawled  note: 

"Come  at  once.  The  Fraulein  is  gone.  She  has  been{ 
stolen  away.  Please  come.  GRETCHEN." 

Von  Earwig  crushed  the  note  in  his  hand  and  looked 
about  helplessly,  almost  lurching  forward  in  his  be 
wilderment. 

"Helene  stolen?  What  did  it  mean?"  He  could 
not  understand. 

He  knew  instinctively  it  was  time  to  go  on  with  the 
next  movement,  and  that  he  must  make  an  effort  for 
the  sake  of  others.  Already  there  were  signs  of 
impatience  in  the  great  audience.  Slowly  he 
stepped  upon  the  dais,  steadying  himself  by 
means  of  the  music-stand.  He  raised  his  baton, 
his  men  played  the  opening  bars,  and  as  they  did  so 
the  full  meaning  of  the  awful  news  he  had  just  read 
flashed  upon  him.  He  realised  suddenly  that  his 
men  were  no  longer  with  him;  the  first  violin  looked 
up  at  him  panic  stricken.  He  sawed  the  air  wildly 
as  he  felt  the  great  audience  surging  around  him 
and  his  orchestra  swaying  to  and  fro.  Then  he 
reeled,  stumbled,  clutching  at  the  music-stand  for  sup 
port;  and  fell  face  forward  upon  the  floor. 
***** 

Some  six  weeks  later  loving  friends  had  gently 
nursed  him  back  to  life  and  reason.  It  was  slow 
work,  but  Von  Earwig  weathered  the  point  of  death 
and  sailed  slowly  into  the  harbour  of  life.  As  he 

24 


Chapter 

grew  stronger,  he  realised  by  degrees  all  that  had 
happened.  One  day  he  called  for  his  beloved  Poons, 
but  they  did  not  dare  to  tell  him  that  his  faithful 
friend  was  dead;  the  shock  of  that  night  had  brought 
on  a  stroke  from  which  Poons  never  recovered. 
When  they  did  tell  him  long  afterward,  he  onlyj 
smiled,  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  said,  "Why  not? 
All  is  gone!  Why  should  my  old  friend  remain  to 
me?" 

When  Von  Earwig  was  strong  enough  he  took  the 
train  to  Berlin  and  consulted  with  the  police  authori 
ties  in  reference  to  the  whereabouts  of  his  lost  wife 
and  child;  but  they  had  left  no  trace  behind  them  ex 
cept  an  indication  that  they  had  passed  through  Paris 
on  their  way  to  son»s  unknown  destination.  He  called 
on  Mr.  Cruger,  the  American  Ambassador,  who 
could  throw  no  light  on  the  subject.  A  search  of  the 
steamship  lists  failed  to  reveal  their  whereabouts ;  and 
at  last,  though  Anton  Von  Earwig  felt  that  they  were 
hopelessly  lost  to  him,  he  returned  to  Leipsic,  more 
than  ever  determined  to  find  them.  It  was  the  only  idea 
he  had:  to  find  them — to  find  them — to  find  them, 
His  other  thoughts  were  without  stimulating  power — - 
irresolute,  vague,  uncertain.  This  one  idea  grew  and 
grew  until  it  became  an  obsession.  He  could  no 
longer  bear  the  sound  of  music;  so  it  was  no  sacrifice 
to  him  to  give  up  his  profession.  He  hated  the  very 
streets  he  walked  in,  for  had  Elene  not  walked  in 
them?  He  must  find  her;  he  must  find  his  child, 
He  could  hear  the  little  girl  calling  for  him,  he  kept 
telling  himself.  It  was  his  only  duty,  his  only  object 


and  mission  in  life;  so  it  became  an  ideal,  a  religioa. 
But  where  to  go,  where  to  go  ?  Finally,  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  leave  Leipsic  for  Paris  and  start  from 
there.  One  day,  after  living  in  Paris  for  some 
months,  the  idea  occurred  to  him  to  go  to  America, 
the  place  of  the  man's  birth.  A  week  later  he  packed 
up  all  his  effects  and  took  passage  on  a  steamer  sail 
ing  for  the  port  of  New  York. 


Cfjapter  ;jf  our 

a  hot  August  afternoon  in  New  York,  espe* 
daily  hot  in  the  downtown  districts,  where  it  was 
damp  and  muggy,  for  it  had  been  drizzling  all 
the  morning.  The  sun  blazing  behind  the  thin  vapour- 
like  clouds  had  converted  the  rain  into  steam,  and  the 
almost  complete  absence  of  a  breeze  had  added  to  the 
personal  discomfort  of  those  who  were  compelled  to 
be  out  of  doors.  Altogether  it  was  a  most  uncom 
fortable  afternoon;  and  the  task  of  running  up  and 
down  stairs  and  answering  the  front  door-bell  in 
creased  the  misery  of  the  maid  of  all  work  in  Miss 
Husted's  furnished-room  establishment  on  Houston 
Street,  near  Second  Avenue. 

"Phew,  ain't  it  a  scorcher?"  muttered  the  young 
woman  as  she  mounted  the  kitchen  stairs  in  answer  to 
some  visitor's  second  tug  at  the  bell.  She  walked 
across  the  hall  that  led  to  the  front  door. 

"Don't  the  dratted  bell  keep  goin',"  she  went  on 
as  she  tugged  open  the  door,  which  the  damp 
weather  had  caused  to  swell  and  stick  to  the  door- 
jamb. 

"Forgot  your  key?"  she  said  as  she  recognised  Sig- 
nor  Tagliafko,  better  known  as  Fico,  the  third-floor, 
hall-bedroom  "guest,"  as  Miss  Husted  insisted  on 
calling  her  lodgers. 

"Forgot  your  key?"  repeated  the  girl,  as  the  gentle 
man  from  Italy  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  otherwi<" 

27 


disported  himself  in  an  endeavour  to  convey  to  her  the 
news  that  he  had  lost  his  key  and  felt  extremely  sorry 
to  trouble  her. 

"Keys  is  made  to  open  doors,  not  to  forget,"  con 
tinued  the  girl,  banging  the  door  shut. 

The  noise  brought  Miss  Husted  out  into  the  hall  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  state  the  fact. 

"What  is  it,  Thurza?"  she  asked,  showing  evidence 
of  being  startled  out  of  a  doze  by  the  noise. 

"Third  floor  front  forgot  his  key,  Miss  Houston," 
said  the  girl  sulkily,  as  Fico  trudged  upstairs  to  his 
room. 

"I  wouldn't  mind  if  he  wasn't  behind  three  weeks," 
said  Miss  Husted,  who  usually  answered  to  the 
name  of  Miss  Houston,  chiefly  because  she  lived  in 
Houston  Street. 

"Well,  /  mind  it,"  muttered  the  girl  to  herself, 
"whether  he's  behind  or  whether  he  isn't.  It  makes 
work  for  me,  and  there  ain't  enough  time  for  regu 
lar,  let  alone  extras,"  she  went  on,  as  she  turned  to 
go  down  stairs  to  the  kitchen. 

"Quite  right,"  said  Miss  Husted,  as  she  closed  the 
door  and  returned  to  her  room.  Experience  had 
taught  her  that  it  was  useless  to  argue  with  Thurza. 
The  girl  was  open  to  impression,  but  not  to  explana 
tion;  once  an  idea  found  lodgment  in  her  brain  it 
stayed  there,  despite  all  argument  to  the  contrary. 
It  was  most  mortifying  to  Miss  Husted  that  Thurza 
had  such  deep-rooted  prejudices  against  every  guest 
that  found  his  way  into  her  establishment.  Lodgers 
made  work;  the  more  lodgers  the  more  work;  ergo, 


Chapter  Jfout 

lodgers  were  enemies,  is  the  way  Thurza  reasoned 
it  out;  and  she  resumed  her  occupation  of  cleaning 
silver  (save  the  mark)  almost  as  cheerfully  as  she 
had  left  it  to  answer  the  door-bell. 

"Dear  me,"  sighed  Miss  Husted,  "how  hard  it  isjl 
to  get  help  and  how  much  harder  it  is  to  keep  them! 
Back  again  already?     Why,  Jenny,  you  must  have-' 
flown!"  this  last  to  a  rather  pretty  little  girl  who  had 
just  entered  the  door. 

"Yes,  aunt,"  replied  the  girl,  "I  knew  Thurza  must 
be  busy — so — I — I  hurried." 

"I  can  see  that,"  her  aunt  said  reprovingly,  "you  are 
dripping  wet;  you  shouldn't  walk  so  fast  in  this  hot 
weather." 

Jenny  was  a  thoughtful  child.  She  had  lived 
rather  an  unhappy  existence  with  her  parents,  for  her 
father  had  deserted  her  mother  when  she  was  three 
years  old  and  after  her  mother's  death  she  had  come 
to  her  aunt  "for  a  few  days"  until  a  home  could  be 
found  for  her.  The  few  days  were  over  some  years 
before,  for  Miss  Husted  loved  the  child  far  too  well 
to  let  her  go,  and  gladly  made  a  home  for  her.  Jenny 
loved  her  aunt  and  stayed  on.  Curiously  enough,  not 
a  word  had  ever  been  spoken  between  them  on  the 
subject,  and  the  little  girl  just  fitted  in,  adapting  her 
self  to  Aunt  Sarah's  ways.  Now  this  process  of  ad^ 
justment  was  by  no  means  an  easy  accomplishment,  for 
Aunt  Sarah  had  no  sense  of  time.  She  thought  and 
felt  herself  to  be  just  as  young  as  she  was  years  and 
years  ago. 

Her   looking-glass    must    have    given    her   several 

2Q 


faster 

hard  jolts,  but  she  either  believed  a  looking-glass 
to  be  an  illusion  or  ignored  its  evidence  altogether; 
for  though  it  showed  her  the  face  of  a  woman 
near  the  danger  line  of  fifty,  she  insisted  on  consider 
ing  herself  as  in  the  neighbourhood  of  thirty.  She 
carried  herself  with  the  dignity  of  a  duchess ;  that  is, 
a  conventional  duchess,  and  talked  habitually  with  the 
hauteur  and  elegance  of  a  stage  queen.  Her  king 
dom  was  the  Houston  Street  establishment,  her  guests 
were  her  subjects,  her  aristocracy  were  the  foreign 
gentlemen  who  occupied  rooms  in  the  various  parts 
of  her  house,  mostly  hall  bedrooms.  She  doted  on 
fashion,  refinement,  pungent  perfumery  and  expensive 
flowers;  anything  that  to  her  mind  suggested  social 
grandeur  appealed  intensely  to  her.  Even  the  olf* 
house,  now  situated  in  an  exceedingly  unfashionable 
quarter,  held  a  place  in  her  affections  because  years 
before  it  had  been  a  part  of  fashionable  New  York, 
and  she  felt  quite  proud  because  she  was  known  as 
Miss  Houston  of  Houston  Street.  The  name  sug 
gested  a  title,  and  a  title  of  all  things  was  dear  to 
her  heart.  Perhaps  her  love  for  Jenny  was  stronger 
because  her  father  was  supposed — by  his  unfortunate 
wife  at  least — to  have  been  the  scion  of  a  proud  and 
aristocratic  family,  who  had  not  been  too  proud,  how 
ever,  to  leave  her  to  starve.  Altogether,  Miss  Husted 
was  an  exceedingly  romantic,  high-strung,  middle- 
aged  spinster,  miles  and  miles  above  her  station  in  life, 
whose  heart  and  purse  were  open  to  any  foreigner 
who  had  discernment  enough  to  see  her  weakness  and 
cact  enough  to  pander  to  it  by  hinting  at  his  nobk, 


Chapter  Jfour 

lineage.  This  love  of  things  and  beings  aristocratic 
was  more  than  a  weakness.  It  was  a  disease,  for  it 
kept  poor  a  good  soul,  who  otherwise  might  have 
been,  if  not  well-to-do,  at  least  fairly  prosperous. 

Jenny,  young  as  she  was,  knew  all  this.  She  knew 
that  Fico,  or  Signer  Tagliafico,  was  a  struggling" 
musician  and  not  an  artist  in  any  sense  of  the  word. 
She  knew  he  was  an  ordinary  Italian  fiddler  who  pre 
ferred  to  fiddle  for  food  rather  than  to  work  manually 
for  it.  And  yet  her  aunt  had  confided  to  her  that  she 
was  sure  he  was  a  count,  because  one  day  Miss 
Husted  had  asked  him  the  question,  and  the  man,  not 
quite  understanding,  had  smiled  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  Still,  he  had  not  denied  it,  so  thenceforth 
was  known  as  Count  Fico. 

And  Pinac,  the  gentleman  who  occupied  the  other 
back  room  next  to  that  of  Fico?  Miss  Husted  was 
sure  that  he  was  a  descendant  of  the  noble  refugees 
from  France,  who  emigrated  during  the  Reign  of 
Terror  in  the  French  Revolution.  The  romance  of 
this  appealed  highly  to  her.  Monsieur  Pinac  was  al 
ways  silent  when  questioned  on  this  point,  but  Miss 
Husted  was  much  interested.  His  silence  surely 
meant  something,  and  besides,  he  looked  every  inch' 
a  nobleman  with  his  fashionably  cut  Van  Dyck  beard. 
There  was  a  picture  of  the  Due  de  Guise  in  one  of 
the  bedrooms  —  Heavens  only  knows  where  Miss 
Husted  got  it,  but  there  it  was — and  pointing  to 
it  with  great  pride,  she  defied  Monsieur  Pinac  to  deny 
his  relationship  to  the  defunct  duke.  Pinac  did  not 
take  the  trouble  to  deny  it !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 


Was  simply  an  ordinary  musician  who  continued  to 
follow  his  profession  because  it  paid  him  better  than 
any  other  business  he  could  embark  in.  Music  is 
'often  the  line  of  easiest  resistance,  and  many  there  be 
that  slide  down  its  graceful  curves.  In  more  senses 
than  one,  it  is  easier  to  play  than  to  work.  But  when 
Miss  Husted  conferred  a  patent  of  nobility  on  a 
foreign  gentleman,  were  he  an  Italian  organ-grinder 
Or  a  French  waiter,  that  title  stood,  his  own  protest 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  In  this  particular 
view-point  Miss  Husted  was  completely  opposite  to 
her  maid  of  all  work. 

Thurza's  mental  attitude  was  the  socialistic  slant 
that  made  for  the  destruction  of  aristocracy;  Miss 
Husted's  system  created  one  of  her  own.  To 
Thurza  foreigners  were  either  "dagoes"  or  "Dutch"; 
to  Miss  Husted  they  were  either  "gentlemen"  or 
'"noblemen"  or  both.  In  this  way,  perhaps,  the  bal- 
.ance  of  harmony  was  restored  in  Houston  Mansion, 
.as  Miss  Husted  dearly  loved  to  call  her  home.  There 
-was  some  foundation  for  believing  that  the  name 
Houston  Mansion  was  painted  on  the  glass  over  the 
front  door,  but  it  was  so  worn  that  no  one  could  de 
cipher  it. 

A  violent  ring  at  the  door-bell  interrupted  the  con 
versation  between  Miss  Husted  and  her  niece. 

"They'll  break  the  bell  if  they're  not  careful,"  re 
marked  the  elder  lady,  arranging  her  ringlets  in  the 
event  that  it  might  be  some  one  to  see  her. 

"It's  a  lady,"  whispered  Jenny  to  her  aunt  a  few 
moments  later.  "She  wants  a  room." 

32 


Chapter  Jfour 

Miss  Husted  sniffed.  "I  don't  like  ladies;  they're 
twice  the  trouble  that  gentlemen  are,  and — I  don't 
know — I  don't  like  'em.  Ladies  looking  for  fur 
nished  rooms  always  have  a  history — and  a  past;  I 
t  don't  like  'em." 

Jenny  nodded  without  in  the  least  understanding  her 
aunt.  She  had  heard  this  before,  but  she  knew  it  was 
a  peculiarity  of  Miss  Husted  always  to  say  the  same 
thing  under  the  same  circumstances,  whether  the  oc 
casion  called  for  it  or  not. 

"Shall  I  ask  her  in,  or  will  you  come  out  into  the 
hall?"  went  on  the  child. 

"Ask  her  kindly  to  step  into  the  reception-room," 
said  her  aunt,  kicking  a  feather  duster  under  the  sofa 
and  generally  tidying  up  a  bit. 

A  large,  stout  person  of  uncertain  age  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

"Is  this  the  reception-room  ?"  asked  the  lady,  fixing 
her  glasses  and  looking  about  her  as  if  quite  prepared 
to  disbelieve  any  statement  Miss  Husted  was  about 
to  make.  That  lady,  much  offended,  drew  herself  up 
stiffly. 

"Yes,  this  is  the  reception-room,"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
intended  to  be  frigidly  polite.  "May  I  inquire  to 
what  am  I  indebted  for  the  honour  of  this  visit?" 

The  fat  lady  sniffed  contemptuously  and  sat  down. 

"I  think  it's  the  sign  'Furnished  Rooms'  that  can 
claim  the  honour,"  she  said  simply. 

"Sit  down,  Jenny,  and  stop  fidgeting,"  Miss  Husted 
snapped  out,  ignoring  the  fat  lady's  attempt  at  smart 
ness. 

33 


Jftlutftc 

"I  want  a  room  if  you  have  one  vacant.  My  name 
is  Mangenborn." 

"Top  floor?"  inquired  Miss  Husted. 

"I  suppose  you  think  a  lady  of  my  avoirdupois  ought 
to  live  on  the  top  floor  so  as  to  have  plenty  of  exercise, 
eh?"  inquired  Mrs.  Mangenborn  with  an  attempt  at 
humour.  Then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  she  went 
on: 

"Well,  youVe  just  guessed  right!  What  kind  of 
people  do  you  have  in  this  house?" 

"My  guests  are  artists  and  gentlemen." 

"Which?"  inquired  the  stout  lady,  and  laughed; 
she  saw  the  joke  if  Miss  Husted  didn't  and  was  good 
natured  enough  to  laugh  even  if  it  were  her  own. 
"Well,  I'm  an  artist,"  she  said  after  a  pause. 

"Indeed?"  said  Miss  Husted,  and  there  was  a  slight 
inflection  of  sarcasm  in  that  lady's  voice. 

Mrs.  Mangenborn  was  either  deaf  or  did  not  notice 
it,  for  she  went  on  unconsciously: 

"Yes,  I  am  an  artist — a  second-sight  artist." 

"Second-sight?" 

"Yes;  I  tell  fortunes,  read  the  future " 

"Oh?"  said  Miss  Husted,  and  that  one  word  was 
enough  to  have  driven  an  ordinary  person  out  of  the. 
front  door,  convinced  of  being  insulted,  but  Mrs. 
Mangenborn  was  not  sensitive. 

"I  should  like  a  cup  of  tea,"  she  said  simply.  "It's 
a  very  hot  day." 

The  magnificent  coolness  of  this  request  fairly  caught 
Miss  Husted.  This  woman  spoke  like  one  accus 
tomed  to  command;  and  much  to  Jenny's  astonish- 

34 


Chapter  Jfoutr 

ment  (she  had  been  listening  attentively)   her  aunt 
sent  her  to  order  tea  for  two. 

Given  a  person  who  can  tell  fortunes,  and  another 
person  on  the  lookout  for  one,  a  person  who  has  in 
finite  hope  in  the  future,  whose  whole  life  indeed  is 
in  the  future,  and  it  doesn't  take  long  to  establish  an 
entente  cordiale.  When  Jenny  came  back  a  few  min 
utes  later,  to  her  utter  astonishment  she  saw  the  mys 
terious  fat  lady  dealing  cards  to  her  aunt  and  talking 
of  events  past,  present,  and  future ;  and  her  aunt  chat 
ting  as  pleasantly  as  if  she  had  known  the  woman 
all  her  life. 

"However  can  you  tell  that?"  asked  Miss  Husted 
as  she  sipped  her  tea  and  cut  the  cards  for  the  nine 
tieth  time. 

"Don't  you  see  the  king?    That  means  a  visitor!" 

"Yes;  but  how  did  you  know  that  my  best  first-floor 
rooms  were  to  let?" 

Mrs.  Mangenborn  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
smiled. 

"That  I  cannot  tell  you;  I  can't  even  tell  myself;  it 
just  comes  to  me/' 

She  did  not  remind  Miss  Husted  that  the  best  rooms 
in  most  boarding  establishments  in  that  locality  were 
usually  to  let,  because  the  people  who  could  afford 
to  pay  the  price  seldom  wanted  to  live  in  that  neigh 
bourhood;  but  she  did  tell  her  several  things  that 
must  have  pleased  her  immensely,  for  in  a  short  while, 
after  Mrs.  Mangenborn  had  disposed  of  a  second  cup 
of  tea,  that  lady  was  fairly  ensconced  in  a  seven-dollar 
front  room  on  the  first  floor  for  a  price  that  did 

35 


Jlusic 

exceed  three  dollars.  However,  if  half  her  predic 
tions  came  true,  it  would  have  been  a  fine  bargain  for 
Miss  Husted  or  any  other  landlady  to  have  her  as  a 
guest. 

As  Jenny  confided  to  Thurza  in  the  kitchen  a  few 
hours  later: 

"You'll  see.  If  the  ground-floor  parlor  and  bed 
room  aren't  let  next  week,  the  new  lady  in  the  first 
floor  front  will  get  notice  to  leave  because  she's  told 
a  fortune  that  won't  come  true,  and  aunt  will  be 
angry.  She  keeps  her  word  and  she  always  expects 
people  to  keep  theirs." 

"My  fortune  never  came  true,"  grunted  Thurza  as 
she  lifted  a  tub  of  washing  off  the  table. 

"Jenny,  Mrs.  Mangenborn  wants  you  to  go  on  an 
errand  for  her,"  called  her  aunt  downstairs. 

"Thought  she  wasn't  never  goin'  to  take  females  in 
her  home  again,"  said  Thurza,  as  Jenny  went  upstairs 
to  obey  her  aunt's  order. 

As  Jenny  closed  the  front  door  gently  on  her  way  to 
the  stores,  she  mused  sadly  on  the  fact  that  her  aunt, 
and  not  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  had  given  her  the  money 
with  which  to  make  the  purchases.  She  hoped  with 
childish  optimism  that  the  second-sight  lady  would 
pay  her  back;  the  other  guests  never  did.  Jenny 
sighed  as  she  thought  how  much  easier  it  would  be  on 
rent-days  if  auntie  didn't  advance  money. 

The  front-door  bell  rang  so  often  that  day  that 
Thurza  declared  it  rang  when  it  didn't  ring,  and  was 
equally  positive  that  the  dratted  bell  didn't  ring  when 
it  did  ring.  At  all  events,  when  the  bell  had  been 

3.6 


Jfour 

nearly  jerked  out  of  its  socket  for  the  third  time,  Miss 
Husted  poked  her  head  out  of  Mrs.  Mangenborn's 
room  and  shouted  for  Thurza  to  hurry  up  and  answer 
it.  As  she  received  no  answer,  she  went  down  a  flight 
to  the  head  of  the  kitchen  stairs,  and  gave  vent  to  a 
most  unusual  display  of  temper.  This  was  brought 
on  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Mangenborn  had  just  de 
clared  that  never  in  all  her  born  days  (to  say  nothing 
of  her  unborn  moments)  had  she  seen  such  a  wonder 
ful  display  of  good  fortune  as  that  which  lay  in  the 
cards  spread  on  the  table  before  them;  there  was  a 
marriage  just  as  sure  as  death.  Mrs.  Mangenborn 
was  proceeding  to  describe  the  masculine  element  in 
the  marriage  proposition,  and  Miss  Husted  was  try 
ing  to  think  who  it  could  be,  when  the  bell  rang  for 
the  third  time  just  as  Thurza's  head  made  its  ap 
pearance  above  the  kitchen  stairs.  Miss  Husted 
decided  to  forget  her  dignity  and  go  to  the  door 
herself. 

Outside  stood  a  hack  piled  up  with  baggage,  and 
on  the  doorstep,  waiting  patiently,  stood  a  gentleman, 
who  bowed  when  the  door  was  opened  and  asked 
gently  with  a  foreign  accent,  if  Miss  Husted  had  a 
room  for  a  studio  and  a  bedroom.  There  was  much 
bustle  and  excitement,  a  great  deal  of  noise,  and  a  still 
greater  deal  of  confusion,  but  when  it  had  subsided 
and  the  hackman  had  been  paid  three  times  as  much 
as  he  was  legally  entitled  to,  the  baggage  was  car 
ried,  or  rather  tumbled,  into  the  rooms  engaged  by  the 
gentleman  with  the  foreign  accent.  Miss  Husted 
rushed  into  Mrs.  Mangenborn's  room  and  breath- 

37 


Jflustc 

lessly  gasped  that  her  fortune  had  come  true,  for  the 
front  parlor  and  bedroom  were  let  at  their  full 
prices. 

"Just  think  of  it,  Mrs.  Mangborn,"  as  Miss 
Husted  insisted  on  calling  her  "guest,"  "just  think  of 
it,  full  price  in  summer!" 

Mrs.  Mangenborn  rose  to  the  occasion. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  she,  as  if  offended  by  Miss 
Husted's  enthusiasm,  "why  not?  The  cards  never 
lie!  How  much  do  you  say  he  is  to  pay?"  she  went 
on,  as  if  Miss  Husted  had  told  her  and  she  had  for 
gotten  the  precise  amount. 

"Fourteen,"  replied  Miss  Husted,  "and  it's  a  good 
price." 

"Not  bad!  But  wait,  you'll  see  that's  only  the 
beginning,"  and  Mrs.  Mangenborn  mixed  up  the 
cards  lying  on  the  table  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  she 
had  just  shuffled  Miss  Husted's  marital  prospects  out 
of  existence. 

"Oh,  that's  nothing,"  she  hastened  to  say  as  she  saw 
the  expression  of  alarm  on  Miss  Husted's  face.  "It'll 
come  out  again.  It's  in  the  cards  and  it  must  come 
out."  Then  she  asked,  "Who  is  he?  What  is 
he?" 

"He's  an  artist  of  some  sort,  a  fine,  noble-looking 
old  gentleman.  German!  oh  such  fine,  elegant  man 
ners;  to  the  manner  born  I  am  sure!  A  musician,  I 
think;  he  had  a  violin  with  him." 

Mrs.  Mangenborn's  nose  elevated  itself  a  little. 

"No  money  in  music!  What's  his  name?"  she 
asked. 


Chapter  Jfour 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Husted.  "He  gave  me 
his  card,  but  I  was  so  flustered  I  didn't  look  at  it." 

She  opened  the  reticule  she  always  carried  at  her  side, 
containing  keys,  recipes,  receipts,  almost  everything 
that  could  be  crowded  into  it,  and  after  quite  a  little 
sifting  and  sorting  she  took  out  a  card  on  which  was 
inscribed : 

"Herr  Anton  Von  Earwig." 


Cijapter  Jftbe 

'!7J]*'HERE  was  a  Decided  a*ir  °f  mystery  about  the 
CIL  new  occupant  of  the  parlor-floor  suite,  or  at 
least  so  it  appeared  to  Miss  Husted  of  Hous 
ton  Street.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Herr  Von  Earwig 
minded  his  own  business  and  evidently  expected  every 
one  else  to  do  likewise,  for  he  kept  his  door  and  his 
ears  closed  to  all  polite  advances  during  the  first  few 
days  after  his  arrival  at  Houston  Mansion.  Despite 
Miss  Husted's  oft-repeated  inquiries  after  the  pro 
fessor's  health  (the  title  had  been  conferred  on  him 
by  virtue  of  his  possessing  a  violin  and  on  the  arrival 
of  a  piano  for  his  room),  despite  her  endeavours  to 
direct  conversation  into  a  channel  which  might  lead  to 
a  discussion  of  his  personal  affairs,  Herr  Von  Earwig 
remained  tacit;  hence  a  mystery  attached  itself  to  the 
personality  of  the  professor.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that 
the  one  gentleman  of  genuine  title  that  found  his 
way  into  the  Houston  Street  establishment  was  ruth 
lessly  shorn  of  his  right  to  distinction  and  dubbed  pro 
fessor,  which  sobriquet  clung  to  him  for  many,  many 
years.  However,  this  did  not  annoy  Herr  Von  Bar-> 
wig,  for  he  had  not  yet  realised  that  in  America  every 
concertina  and  rag-time  piano-player,  as  well  as  bar 
ber,  corn-doctor,  and  teacher  of  the  manly  art  of  box 
ing,  is  entitled  to  the  distinction  of  being  called 
professor. 

"The  professor  has  beautiful  manners — oh,   such 

40 


Chapter 

beautiful  manners,"  confided  Miss  Husted  to  her  new 
friend,  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  about  two  weeks  after  his 
arrival.  "Every  time  I  speak  he  bows,  and  there's 
oh,  such  dignity,  such  grace  in  the  bending  of  his 
head.  How  polite  he  is,  too;  he  always  says,  'No, 
madam,  thank  you;'  or  'yes,  if  madam  will  be  so 
kind,'  and  then  he  bows  again  and  waits  for  me  to 

go-" 

"Is  that  all  he  says?"  inquired  Mrs.  Mangenborn. 
"I  guess  he  knows  how  to  keep  his  mouth  shut,  then  t 
If  you  want  a  man  to  talk  never  ask  him  questions; 
men  are  a  suspicious  lot." 

"Ah,  but  he  is  different,"  said  Miss  Husted.  "He 
has  such  a  sad,  far-away,  wistful  look  in  his  noble, 
dark  eyes." 

"That  may  be,  but  far-away  looks  don't  pay  any 
rent  for  you !  You  can't  attach  any  importance  to  things 
like  that.  My  first  husband  had  a  far-away  look,  and 
I  haven't  seen  him  for  ten  years.  That  Steinway 
grand  the  professor's  got,  did  he  hire  it  or  buy  it? 
A  man's  got  to  have  money  to  support  one  of  those 
instruments,"  went  on  Mrs.  Mangenborn. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Miss  Husted,  who  could 
not  help  thinking  that  her  friend  had  a  somewhat  mer 
cenary  mind.  "No  one's  been  to  see  him,  so  he  hasn't 
got  it  for  his  friends;  his  violin  has  a  beautiful  sound. 
Mr.  Pinac  tells  me  that  it  must  be  a  rare  old  instru 
ment." 

The  door-bell  was  heard  ringing,  but  no  one  seemed 
to  pay  any  attention  to  it  until  they  heard  the  whistle 
that  followed;  then  everybody  bustled  about.  The 

41 


postman  always  created  a  little  excitement  in  Houston 
Street,  and  his  arrival  was  the  one  occasion  on  which 
even  Thurza  hurried  to  the  door.  It  was  also  the  one 
occasion  on  which  she  need  not  have  done  so,  for  she 
invariably  found  Miss  Husted  or  one  of  the  guests 
[ahead  of  her. 

"Registered  letter  for  Herr  Von  Earwig." 

"I'll  take  it  to  him,"  said  Miss  Husted  sweetly. 

"He's  got  to  come  and  sign  it  himself,"  said  the  let 
ter-carrier,  shaking  his  head. 

"Where's  it  from?"  asked  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  her 
head  appearing  over  the  bannisters. 

Miss  Husted  looked  at  the  letter-carrier  inquiringly, 
but  that  official  appeared  not  to  have  heard  the  ques 
tion.  At  all  events,  he  made  no  reply,  and  Miss 
Husted  knocked  on  the  professor's  door. 

"Come  in." 

Miss  Husted  opened  the  door. 

"Ah,  madam,  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  said  Von 
Earwig,  rising  from  the  table  at  which  he  was  writing. 

Miss  Husted  smiled  sweetly.  She  noticed  that  he 
was  writing  music,  so  he  must  be  a  composer  as  well 
as  a  professor. 

"Will  you  please  come  and  sign  for  a  registered  let 
ter?"  she  said. 

"Ah,  yes !    I  come  at  once." 

He  arose,  held  the  door  open  for  Miss  Husted  to 
pass  out,  bowing  to  her  as  she  did  so,  and  then  com 
ing  into  the  hallway,  fulfilled  the  postal  requirements, 
totally  unconscious  that  several  pairs  of  eyes  were 
watching  the  operation.  The  letter-carrier  handed 

42 


Chapter  Jftbe 

him  two  letters;  one  bearing  the  postmark  Leipsic, 
the  other  that  of  New  York. 

Von  Earwig  returned  to  his  room  and  read  the  fol 
lowing  from  a  firm  of  stock  brokers : 

"Herr  Anton  Von  Earwig. 

"DEAR  SIR:  Pursuant  to  your  instructions,  we  have' 
sold  the  balance  of  the  securities  you  left  with  us,  but 
they  have  so  depreciated  in  value  during  your  seven 
years'  absence  from  Leipsic,  that  we  hesitated  to  sell 
them  at  their  present  market  price.     However,  your 
instructions  in  regard  to  these  securities  were  definite 
and  we  have  obeyed  them.     Hoping  this  will  meet 
with  your  satisfaction,  we  remain, 
"Yours  obediently, 

"BERNSTEIN  &  DEUTSCH." 

A  draft  on  Drexel,  Morgan's  bank,  for  $1,000 
dropped  from  Von  Earwig's  hand;  he  picked  it  up 
mechanically  and  looked  at  it. 

"The  last,  the  very  last,  barely  one-tenth  the  price 
I  paid  for  them,"  he  thought;  and  sighing,  put  the 
draft  into  a  pocketbook  and  deposited  it  in  an  inner 
pocket. 

The  other  letter  was  from  a  detective  agency  in 
Eighth  Street,  and  read  as  follows : 

"DEAR  SIR:  Call  on  us  at  your  earliest  convenience*. 
We  have  news. 

"HATCH  &  BUCKLEY." 

That  was  all,  but  it  was  enough  to  cause  Von  Earwig 
to  change  hastily  from  his  slippers  and  dressing-gown 

43 


JWusftc 

to  his  shoes  and  hat ;  and  to  be  out  in  the  street  in  less 
than  one  minute  after  reading  the  letter. 

"News,  news,  news!  Good  God,  is  it  possible? 
No,  no!  I  mustn't  believe  it;  I  dare  not.  Helene, 
Helene,  my  little  girl!  No,  no,  I  won't;  I  won't  1" 
and  he  read  the  letter  again.  "After  all,"  he  mused, 
"it  may  be  news  of  a  thousand  little  girls  and  yet  not 
of  mine.  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam!"  In  turning 
from  Houston  Street  into  the  Bowery,  still  reading 
the  letter,  he  had  bumped  suddenly  into  a  middle-aged 
lady,  who  retaliated  by  deliberately  pushing  him  back, 
at  the  same  time  asking  him  a  somewhat  unnecessary 
question  as  to  where  he  was  going.  Then  she  had 
gone  on  her  way  without  waiting  to  hear  his  apology. 

Hatch  &  Buckley's  private  detective  agency,  sit 
uated  just  off  Broadway  and  Eighth  Street,  had  a 
large  office  divided  into  several  small  offices.  For 
some  occult  reason  only  one  person  could  get  in  or  out 
at  a  time,  and  this  made  confidential  conversation  a 
necessity  rather  than  a  matter  of  choice.  The  senior 
member  of  the  firm  was  in  when  Von  Barwig  called. 
Be  it  understood  at  the  beginning  that  this  large, 
stout  personage,  who  invariably  spoke  in  a  whisper, 
4 and  referred  so  often  to  his  partner,  had  no  partner 
but  a  number  of  detectives  on  his  staff,  to  whom  he 
was  wont  to  speak  or  whisper  of  as  partner  when  dis 
cussing  what  they  had  ferreted  out  or  left  undiscov 
ered.  This  man,  fat,  florid,  and  fifty,  had  been  a 
central  office  detective  for  many  years.  After  a  time, 
being  exceedingly  useful  in  a  political  sense,  he  had 
been  admitted  to  the  inner  circle  at  Tammany  Hall 

44 


Cfjaptcr  Jftbe 

and  was  at  present  one  of  the  leading  geniuses  in  that 
hallowed  body  of  faithful  public  servitors. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  said  this  gentleman  urbanely  as 
Von  Earwig  stood  waiting  as  patiently  as  he  could  for 
the  news  he  was  so  anxious  to  hear. 

"Well,  I  think  we've  got  something,"  he  added. 

Von  Earwig  said  nothing;  he  waited  to  hear  more. 

"First  of  all,  business  before  pleasure,"  said  Mr. 
Hatch,  and  suited  the  action  to  the  word  by  handing 
Von  Earwig  a  bill  for  $556.84,  for  "services 
rendered." 

"Yes,  yes;  but  tell  me  the  news!"  faltered  Von  Bar- 
wig,  without  looking  at  the  bill.  "Have  you  found 
her?  Tell  me  I"  The  pleading  look  in  Von  Earwig's 
face  would  have  melted  the  heart  of  any  ordinary 
scoundrel ;  but  Mr.  Hatch  was  no  ordinary  scoundrel. 

"It's  customary,  Mr.  Earwig,"  he  said  drily*, 
"to  settle  one  account  before  opening  another." 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  the  bill  that  had  been  handed 
to  him,  saw  the  amount,  shook  his  head  pathetically, 
and  smiled.  "There  must  be  some  mistake,"  he 
said. 

"My  partner  went  to  California  on  this  clue  and  fol 
lowed  it  clean  to  British  Columbia ;  railroad  fares 
alone  amount  to  two  fifty;  there's  hotel  bills,  carfare;! 
there's  salaries,  office  expenses,  stamps;  and  then — 
there's  me."  If  Mr.  Hatch  had  put  himself  first  there 
would  have  been  little  need  to  refer  to  the  other  items. 
"There's  the  vouchers,"  he  went  on,  pushing  a  lot  of 
papers  toward  Von  Earwig.  "Everything  O.K.'d; 
everything  on  the  level,  open  and  above  board."  He 

45- 


leaned  back  in  his  chair  as  if  determined  not  to  say 
another  word  until  the  matter  was  settled. 

"Then  you  refuse  to  tell  me  any  more  until  this  is 
paid?" 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all!  I'd  just  as  leave  tell  you 
right  now;  but  it  wouldn't  be  business,  it  wouldn't 
be  business."  He  repeated  this  as  if  to  impress  his 
listener  with  the  importance  of  the  business  aspect  of 
the  situation  being  well  preserved. 

"You  are  right;  it  is  not  business!  It  is  life  and 
death ;  it's  my  heart,  my  soul,  my  very  existence !  My 
little  girl,  my  little  Helene  is  not  business." 

"I  suppose  not,"  assented  the  fat  man,  "not  to  you; 
but  our  end  of  it  rests  on  a  commercial  basis.  We've 
laid  out  the  money  and  we're  entitled  to  be  paid 
for  it." 

"But  I  have  paid  you  already  so  much!  I  cannot 
afford  more.  For  years  I  have  hunted  high  and  low 
for  my  wife  and  child  through  city  after  city  for  thou 
sands  upon  thousands  of  miles.  At  last  I  came  to  you, 
and  there  have  been  months  and  months  of  weary 
waiting,  hunting  false  clues;  disappointments  upon 
disappointments." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  nodded  the  senior  partner. 
"That's  part  of  the  game." 

"I  have  spent  with  you  nearly  all  the  money  I  have, 
and  nothing  has  come  of  it.  Every  now  and  then 
you  raise  my  hopes  by  saying  you  have  found  her. 
Then,  when  the  news  comes,  you  ask  for  more  money 
and  when  I  have  given  it,  it  is  again  a  false  clue." 

"That  ain't  our  fault!"  observed  the  stout  gentle- 


Chapter  Jfibe 

man.  "My  partner  follows  a  clue,  and  you  can't 
blame  him  if  it  don't  turn  out  exactly  the  right  one. 
This  fellow  Ahlmann  is  an  eel ;  that's  what  he  is,  an 
eel!  But  I  think  we've  got  him  now,  I'm  almost 


sure!' 


"You  think?"  eagerly  inquired  Von  Earwig. 

"Well,  of  course  there's  nothing  absolutely  sure,  but 
this  is  the  last  report  he's  sent  in.  Seems  to  me  to 
pretty  well  cover  the  case,  but  it's  been  a  hard  job. 
This  fellow  Ahlmann  has  completely  covered  his 
tracks." 

"The  child?     She— she  lives?" 

"Oh,  yes;  yes!" 

"And  the  mother?" 

"I  think  he's  located  them  all.  I  can't  tell  you 
for  sure  till  I  read  the  report  again." 

Von  Earwig,  his  hands  trembling  with  excitement, 
wrote  a  cheque  for  the  amount  required,  and  with 
breathless  impatience  awaited  the  information  as  to 
the  whereabouts  of  his  lost  wife  and  child. 

"They're  in  Chicago,"  said  Hatch,  taking  up  the 
cheque  and  scanning  it. 

"Both  of  them?"  asked  Von  Earwig  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"Both  of  them,"  repeated  Hatch,  conveniently  re 
membering  the  detail  without  reading  the  report. 
"George,  bring  me  Mr.  Bailey's  telegram  in  the  Bar- 
wig  case,"  and  when  George,  a  smart  young  office 
boy,  brought  the  required  documents,  he  was  quietly 
instructed  by  his  employer  to  cash  Von  Earwig's 
cheque  immediately. 

47 


"When  will  you  go?"  asked  Mr.  Hatch. 

"As  soon  as  possible." 

"To-night?" 

"Yes." 

"Here's  the  address,"  and  Mr.  Hatch  handed  him 
'a  card.  "You'll  meet  my  partner  there,  1120  State 
Avenue;  he'll  take  you  to  the  parties.  Shall  I  get 
your  railroad  tickets?" 

"No.     I— I  get  them." 

"It's  twenty-six  hours  to  Chicago;  you'll  need  a  Pull 
man  ticket." 

"Thank  you;  I  get  them." 

"Well,  just  as  you  say.  Good  luck  to  you,  Mr. 
Earwig." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Von  Earwig  simply.  He  did  not 
tell  Mr.  Hatch  that  he  had  nearly  come  to  the  end 
of  his  resources  and  that  he  would  ride  in  the  day 
car.  Not  that  he  felt  ashamed  of  not  being  able  to 
afford  luxuries,  but  he  instinctively  resented  making 
a  confidant  of  a  man  like  the  senior  partner  of  the 
firm  of  Hatch  &  Buckley. 

As  he  walked  rapidly  toward  Houston  Street  he 
found  himself  thinking  for  the  first  time  since  his 
arrival  in  America  of  the  question  of  his  future, 
but  this  question  did  not  occupy  his  mind  long.  Like 
all  his  ideas  on  any  subject  other  than  that  of  his 
lost  wife  and  child,  it  was  forced  into  the  background. 
As  he  neared  his  rooms  in  Houston  Street  his  hopes 
began  to  rise;  and  the  prospect  of  going  to  Chicago, 
the  possibility  of  seeing  his  wife  and  child,  began  to 
work  in  his  mind.  His  heart  began  to  beat  tumultu- 


Chapter  jfifoe 

This  time  his  dream  would  come  true,  and 
in  his  mind's  eye  he  clasped  his  little  girl  tightly 
to  himself  and  rained  kisses  on  her  little  upturned 
face.  He  even  found  it  in  his  heart  to  forgive  th§ 
mother;  after  all,  she  was  the  mother  of  his  little 
one,  that  he  could  never  forget. 

As  for  Ahlmann,  he  could  not  picture  him;  his 
mind  refused  to  conjure  up  a  thought  of  the  man. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  were  dead,  and  that  Von  Earwig 
was  on  his  way  to  rescue  the  wife  and  child  from 
some  danger  that  threatened  them.  This  work  of 
rescue  was  the  fulfilment  of  an  ideal.  Nothing 
should  be  allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  it!  The 
senior  partner  of  Hatch  &  Buckley  had  been  quick  to 
note  this  condition  of  mind  and  to  reap  the  profits  that 
came  therefrom.  Monomania  means  money,  was  a 
business  axiom  in  that  gentleman's  office,  but  he  had 
pumped  the  stream  dry  and  Von  Earwig  was  now  at 
the  end  of  his  resources.  By  some  strange  process  of 
thought,  Von  Earwig  recognised  this  fact,  but  it 
seemed  to  him  to  mean  that  because  his  money  had 
come  to  an  end  his  search  had  also  corne  to  an  end. 
The  result  of  his  trip  to  Chicago  could  not  but  be 
favourable,  because  he  dared  not  think  of  its  failure. 

So  great  is  the  influence  of  hope  upon  imagination 
'that  by  the  time  Von  Earwig  reached  his  rooms  he 
was  already  contemplating  the  possibility  of  keeping 
his  wife  and  child  there,  at  least  until  he  could  obtain 
better  quarters  for  them.  So,  when  he  opened  the 
door  of  his  room,  and  found  Jenny  there  polishing 
the  brass  andirons,  he  took  more  notice  than  usual  of 

49 


the  little  girl,  and  to  her  intense  joy  promised  to  bring 
her  a  box  of  candy  from  out  West,  where  he  told  her 
he  was  going  as  he  busied  himself  packing  his  hand 
bag. 

In  a  few  hours  Anton  Von  Earwig,  his  heart  beating 
high  in  expectation,  was  seated  in  one  of  the  day 
coaches  of  a  fast  Pennsylvania  Railroad  train  on  his 
way  to  Chicago. 


Chapter  H>ix 

N  EARWIG  had  left  New  York  with  a  light 
heart.  Hope  had  ripened  into  expectation, 
and  for  the  first  time  since  his  arrival  in 
America,  seven  years  since,  he  had  felt  something  like  a 
positive  assurance  that  this  time  his  mission  was  going 
to  result  favourably.  Hatch  had  assured  him  that 
his  partner  had  positively  found  the  missing  wife  and 
child;  and  Von  Earwig  had  gradually  allowed  him 
self  to  think  it  possible,  then  probable,  and  finally  he 
became  almost  certain  of  the  successful  result  of  his 
journey  to  Chicago. 

As  Jenny  watched  him  pack  his  valise  on  the  after 
noon  he  lett  for  Chicago,  she  had  noticed  that  now 
and  then  his  face  beamed  with  happiness,  the  happi 
ness  of  expected  joy.  And  when  he  jokingly  asked 
her  how  she  would  like  to  be  his  little  girl,  it  made 
her  so  happy  that  she  wanted  to  throw  her 
arms  around  his  neck  and  cry  on  his  shoulder.  She 
felt  that  he  was  just  the  kind  of  father  she  would 
like  to  have,  but  the  conversation  didn't  get  very 
far,  for  Von  Earwig  had  a  train  to  catch  and 
was  too  busy  to  hear  the  little  girl's  response  to  his 
question. 

Jenny  thought  he  was  not  quite  in  earnest,  certainly 
not  so  deeply  in  earnest  as  she  was.  Her  aunt  did 
not  quite  understand  her,  and  she  needed  some  one  to 
whom  she  could  open  her  heart.  She  felt  that  Mr. 

w 


(Efje 

Von  Earwig  would  listen  to  her  little  confidences  and 
sympathise  with  her;  perhaps  even  tell  her  his 
troubles.  Young  as  the  girl  was,  she  felt  that  the 
man  had  suffered.  She  couldn't  tell  why,  but  her  little 
heart  had  gone  out  to  him  in  sympathy  almost  from 
the  moment  she  saw  him.  How  it  was  she  could  not 
have  explained,  but  she  loved  him.  Jenny  thought 
these  things  over  long  after  Mr.  Von  Earwig  had 
departed  on  his  journey.  It  made  her  glad  to  think 
how  happy  he  was  when  he  left  the  house  with  his 
valise  and  umbrella,  hurrying  to  catch  the  little  bob 
tail  car  that  wended  its  way  across  town  to  the  Penn 
sylvania  ferry. 

So  it  came  about  that  when  Jenny,  looking  out  of 
the  window  some  few  days  later,  saw  him  coming  up 
the  street  slowly,  disconsolately,  almost  dragging 
himself  along,  the  little  girl  experienced  a  great  shock. 
The  man  seemed  to  have  changed  altogether.  It  was 
the  same  dear  Mr.  Von  Earwig,  yes,  but  the  eyes  of 
love  cannot  be  deceived;  he  looked  older,  and  oh, 
so  careworn  and  tired!  She  rushed  to  the  door  at 
once,  to  save  him  the  trouble  of  finding  his  night 
key,  and  greeted  him  with  affectionate  inquiry.  To 
her  intense  disappointment,  he  nodded  absentmind- 
edly  to  signify  his  appreciation  of  her  act.  The  faint> 
ghost  of  a  smile  came  over  his  fact,  but  he  did  not 
look  at  her.  Silently  he  opened  the  door  to  his  room 
and  passed  into  it  without  speaking,  closing  the  door 
firmly  behind  him.  Jenny's  heart  sank;  she  felt  rather 
than  knew  that  her  friend  was  in  trouble,  for  he  did 
not  pat  her  on  the  head  or  pinch  her  cheek  as  he  had 

52 


Cfjapter 

always  done  before  when  she  opened  the  door  for 
him. 

Her  inability  to  be  of  any  service  to  him  only 
added  to  the  child's  sorrow;  tears  came  into  her  eyes 
as  she  stood  looking  at  the  closed  door,  for  she  felt 
:ompletely  shut  out  of  his  life.  At  supper  that  night, 
.when  her  aunt  asked  her  "what  ailed  her,"  and  in 
vited  Mrs.  Mangenborn  to  look  at  "Jenny's  long 
face,"  the  child  tried  to  laugh,  failed  completely,  and 
burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  Jenny  could  not  have  ex 
plained  to  herself  the  whys  and  wherefores  of  her 
tearful  outburst,  but  the  child  could  not  forget  poor 
Von  Earwig's  drawn,  haggard  face  and  its  weary, 
hopeless  expression. 

"She's  a  queer  child,"  commented  Mrs.  Mangen 
born,  when  Jenny  had  gone  to  bed  that  night. 

"Her  father  had  blue  blood,"  replied  Miss  Husted 
impressively,  "and  you  always  find  hysterical  natures 
in  high-born  families." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  agreed  her  friend;  "some 
thing  is  wrong  with  the  child,  that's  plain." 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  is,"  said  Miss  Husted, 
rather  anxiously.  "Perhaps  she's  working  up  for  an 
tillness!  Oh,  dear,"  she  went  on,  almost  in  tears,  for 
shallow  as  she  was  herself,  she  loved  the  child  deeply, 
"shall  I  send  for  a  doctor?  I  think  I'd  better;  I  al 
ways  feel  safer  with  a  doctor  in  the  house." 

"Wait  till  the  morning,"  suggested  Mrs.  Mangen 
born;  "if  anything' s  going  to  develop,  you'll  know 
what  it  is  by  then." 

"Do  you  think  anything  will  develop?"  inquired 

53 


Miss  Husted,  clutching  Mrs.  Mangenborn  by  the 
arm. 

"I  don't  know  for  certain,"  replied  her  friend, 
"but  it  can't  be  much  anyway,  or  I'd  have  seen  it 
there,"  pointing  to  a  pack  of  cards  on  the  mantelpiece. 
"Wait  a  moment,"  she  said  suddenly,  and  then  she 
knit  her  brows  as  if  thinking  very  hard;  "didn't  the 
six  of  spades  come  out  true?  Yes,  it  did!"  and  she 
shook  her  head  thoughtfully. 

"I  shan't  feel  comfortable  till  I  go  and  see  her," 
said  Miss  Husted,  now  thoroughly  alarmed;  and 
taking  a  lamp  from  a  side  table,  the  good  lady  went 
upstairs  to  look  at  her  niece. 

"That  six  of  spades  surely  came  out  for  something," 
muttered  Mrs.  Mangenborn  to  herself.  "Six  is  trag 
edy  !  Well,  we  must  take  what  comes,"  she  continued 
philosophically  as  she  helped  herself  liberally  to  some 
chocolate  caramels  that  Miss  Husted  had  thought 
fully,  or  thoughtlessly,  left  on  the  table. 

In  the  meantime,  another  tragedy  of  a  very  different 
sort  was  being  enacted  in  the  room  on  the  parlor  floor 
— the  tragedy  of  the  death  of  hope.  For  when  Anton 
Von  Earwig  closed  the  door  of  his  room  on  the  even 
ing  of  his  return  from  Chicago,  he  closed  it  finally 
and  forever  upon  hope,  and  gave  himself  up  com 
pletely  to  dull,  grim,  sodden  despair.  Not  only  this, 
but  he  cursed  himself  for  ever  having  hoped.  He 
never  suspected  for  a  moment  that  the  eminent  firm 
of  Hatch  &  Buckley  had  wilfully  deceived  him,  for 
Mr.  Hatch's  partner  almost  cried  with  vexation  and 
disappointment  when  he  found  that  the  woman  and 

54 


Chapter 

child  he  pointed  out  were  not  the  "parties"  they  were 
looking  for.  Indeed,  Mr.  Buckley's  grief  was  so  poig 
nant  that  Von  Earwig  almost  felt  sorry  for  the  man, 
who  declared  that  his  professional  honour  as  a  de 
tective  was  ruined  from  that  moment.  It  was,  in 
this  case,  for  Von  Earwig  made  up  his  mind  at  once 
never  to  employ  him  again. 

The  summer  twilight  was  fast  deepening  into  night 
as  Von  Earwig  sat  staring  out  of  his  window,  looking 
at  the  passers-by  and  seeing  them  not.  He  rebelled 
against  fate,  conditions,  life;  and  for  the  first  time  in 
his  career  he  railed  at  his  Creator.  He  had  asked  for 
light,  and  no  light  came  in  answer  to  his  prayer ;  only 
more  darkness,  more  disappointment,  more  loneli 
ness.  He  sat  with  bowed  head,  wondering  what  was 
the  meaning  of  it  all.  Who  could  solve  the  problem ; 
who  could  straighten  out  his  tangled  life;  who  could 
explain  it?  Was  the  devil  really  and  truly  greater 
than  God — the  God  who  is  Love? 

Von  Earwig  had  read  Nietzsche,  Schopenhauer, 
Haeckel,  all  the  school  of  pessimistic  philosophers 
that  exercised  such  a  tremendous  influence  upon  the 
thought  of  his  day;  but  he  had  always  instinctively 
rebelled  against  the  nihilism  of  their  creed,  the  creed 
,of  materialism.  Yet,  at  this  moment  he  was  perilously 
mear  to  believing  that  the  force  for  evil  was  greater 
than  the  force  for  good.  There  was  no  love  in  his 
life;  and  for  him  love  was  life  itself.  As  he  sat  there 
with  eyes  fixed  and  staring,  seeing  nothing,  hearing 
nothing,  he  thought  over  the  events  that  had  come 
to  him  since  his  sojourn  in  America.  For  the  past 

55 


tc  Jfflaster 

seven  years  he  had  devoted  every  thought,  every 
energy,  and  nearly  every  penny  he  had  to  the  search 
for  his  loved  ones.  And  he  had  failed,  failed,  failed. 

When  the  first  shock  of  his  loss  came  upon  him  in 
Leipsic  he  had  asked  himself  the  meaning  of  it,  and 
the  answer  had  come  to  him  that  Art  had  been  his 
mistress,  and  that  she  had  stepped  in  between  him 
and  the  ones  he  loved.  He  had  been  selfish,  he  had 
loved  his  Art  as  much,  more  perhaps,  than  his  own 
flesh  and  blood — and  this  was  his  punishment.  Yet 
he  had  given  up  his  mistress,  Art ;  he  no  longer  lived 
for  her;  he  would  live  for  his  wife  and  child,  if  he 
could  only  find  them,  if,  if,  if!  He  felt  that  there 
was  indeed  nothing  to  live  for!  Then  why  live,  he 
asked  himself?  Better  be  dead;  far  better  be  dead! 
Who  would  care  if  he  were  no  more?  At  this  mo- 
menc  Von  Earwig  caught  himself  up,  and  realising 
his  own  danger  refused  to  allow  himself  to  drift  along 
that  line  of  thought.  Life  meant  nothing  to  him  now, 
but  live  he  must,  live  he  would;  that  he  was  deter 
mined  on.  Complex  as  the  problem  was,  he  would 
go  on  with  it.  He  was  not  a  coward,  and  for  this 
he  thanked  his  Creator. 

In  thanking  Him  he  gained  a  little  courage,  and  he 
asked  for  a  sign,  something  to  indicate  that  he  was 
not  the  sport  of  fate,  the  creature  of  circumstance; 
something,  anything,  to  indicate  that  God  had  not 
completely  forgotten  him.  With  bowed  head  Von 
Earwig  prayed  that  he  might  be  saved  from  himself; 
that  thoughts  of  self-destruction  might  never  again 
come  into  his  mind;  for  he  felt  that  he  might  not 


Cfjapter 

always  have  the  power  to  reject  them.  He  asked 
that  the  desire  to  live  might  again  come  upon  him; 
for  it  dawned  upon  him  that  perhaps  his  duty  lay 
in  the  direction  of  serving  others.  Desire  is  prayer, 
and  Von  Earwig's  prayer  was  answered,  for  when 
he  looked  into  the  street  he  saw  life  once  more. 
Opening  his  window  he  heard  the  voices  of  the  chil 
dren  at  play.  He  saw  their  joy,  and  rejoicing  with 
them,  he  thanked  God  that  he  could  rejoice.  As  he 
arose  from  his  chair  he  sighed,  a  deep,  deep  sigh,  and 
the  darkest  moment  in  his  life  had  passed. 

"Was  that  a  knock?"  Anton  asked  himself  as  he 
turned  toward  his  door.  "Surely  not  a  visitor?" 

Lighting  his  lamp,  he  looked  at  the  cuckoo  clock 
upon  the  wall.  It  said  a  quarter  past  nine  o'clock; 
he  had  not  heard  the  cuckoo  strike  seven,  eight,  or 


nine! 


"Phew  1"  he  whistled,  "I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late." 
Again  the  timid  little  knock. 

"Surely  I  can't  be  mistaken  again,"  thought  Von 
Earwig,  and  walking  to  the  door  he  threw  it  wide 
open. 

To  his  utter  astonishment,  a  little  girl  in  a  white 
night-gown  stood  there,  silently  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

"Why,  Jenny,  Jenny!"  and  Von  Earwig,  taking 
the  trembling  child  in  his  arms,  placed  her  gently  in 
his  armchair.  "Jenny,  my  dear  child." 

"I — I — couldn't  go  to  sleep  until  I'd  said  good 
night;  I  tried  to  but  I  couldn't,"  sobbed  Jenny  as 
soon  as  she  could  speak  coherently. 

57. 


JHusic 

"Why,  what  has  happened?"  asked  Von  Earwig, 
as  he  covered  her  with  a  travelling  rug. 

"You  asked  me  to  be  your  little  girl,  and  then,  when 
I  said  'Yes,'  you  didn't  answer;  and  I — -thought — 
you  —  were  —  angry  —  with  —  me  —  because — be- 
/ cause!  When — you — came — in,  I  felt  so  sorry  for 
you,  and  you  looked  so  unhappy  that  I  had  to  come 
down  and  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  I — I  just  couldn't 
help — it.  You're  not  angry,  are  you?" 

"My  dear,  dear  little  girl.  I,  angry?"  Von  Earwig 
shook  his  head.  "How  could  I  be  angry  with  you? 
Why  should  I  ?  Why,  it's — it's  impossible  1"  and  Von 
Earwig  laughed  at  the  very  idea.  Jenny  sighed 
deeply  and  remained  silent;  she  seemed  contented 
simply  to  be  with  him. 

After  u  few  moments'  silence  Von  Earwig  looked  at 
her. 

"Is  this  my  answer;  is  this  —  my  —  answer?"  he 
thought,  and  then  he  said  slowly,  "I  am  glad,  more 
glad  than  I  can  ever  tell  you,  that  you  have  come 
to  me  at  this  moment." 

He  looked  at  the  girl  thoughtfully;  she  was  not  his 
little  Helene,  but  he  would  try  to  love  her  as  if  she 
were.  Von  Earwig  took  her  hand  in  his  and  tenderly 
stroked  her  cheek. 

"You  shall  be  my  little  girl,  my  little  one,  eh,  eh? 
You  shall!" 

"Yes,"  nodded  Jenny,  smiling  happily,  "I'll  be  your 
little  girl,  if  you'll  have  me."  And  from  that  moment 
Von  Earwig  never  again  felt  quite  alone  in  the 
world. 

58 


Cfjapter 

At  this  instant  a  loud  scream  was  neard,  followed 
by  another,  and  still  another. 

Von  Earwig  rushed  into  the  hallway,  followed  by 
Jenny. 

"She's  gone,  gone!  jumped  out  of  the  window!" 
screamed  Miss  Husted,  from  the  top  floor.     "Look!' 
the  window's  open,  and  she's  gone;  jumped  out — 
gone." 

"Who,  who?"  shouted  Thurza,  rushing  up 
stairs. 

"Jenny,  Jenny!"  wailed  Miss  Husted — so  excited 
that  she  was  almost  beside  herself. 

Jenny  and  Von  Earwig  looked  at  one  another  in 
astonishment  and  the  little  girl  hurried  after  Thurza, 
arriving  upstairs  just  in  time  to  prevent  her  aunt  from 
going  into  hysterics. 

"Here  I  am,  auntie,"  she  said,  and  Miss  Husted 
was  so  delighted  to  see  her  niece  again,  that  she  for 
got  to  scold  her.  As  she  came  downstairs  after  satis 
fying  herself  that  Jenny  was  not  only  safe  and  sound, 
but  in  her  usual  health — she  found  Herr  Von  Earwig 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  waiting  for  her. 

"She  is  all  right,  eh,  madam?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  responded  that  lady,  pleased  that  Herr' 
Von  Earwig  should  be  interested  in  the  welfare  oft 
any  member  of  her  family. 

"She  is  a  good  child;  I  like  her  very  much,  very 
much." 

"Yes,  Jenny  is  a  very  good  girl;  her  father  was  a 
member  of  one  of  the  oldest  New  York  families, 
quite  the  aristocrat  let  me  tell  you !" 

59 


ic  JHasttr 

"Ah,  yes.  Her  father  is  dead?"  repeated  Von  Bar- 
wig,  "and  her  mother  also?"  he  asked. 

"I  am  her  only  living  relative,"  sighed  Miss  Husted. 

"Ah,  I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Von  Earwig  simply. 
"Yes — I — Jenny  and  I  have  come  to  an  understand 
ing.  I  am  her — what  you  call — not  father-in-law — 
her— her " 

Von  Earwig  fumbled  a  little  with  the  English 
language  until  he  made  Miss  Husted  understand 
that  he  had  taken  her  niece  under  his  wing,  so 
to  speak;  and  hoped  that  she  would  have  no  objection. 
On  the  contrary,  Miss  Husted  was  highly  pleased, 
for  one  of  her  lodgers  had  told  her  that  Von  Earwig 
had  been  a  great  man  in  Germany. 

"I  shall  go  out  to  dinner.  Is  there  a  restaurant  near 
here  that  you  can  recommend?"  asked  Von  Earwig. 
"Dinner?  Why  it's  nearly  ten  o'clock !"  replied  Miss 
Husted,  "let  me  get  you  a  cup  of  tea." 

"No,  thank  you,  madam.  I  must  go  into  the  street, 
into  the  cafe,  where  there  is  life,  and  people;  I  must 
get  away  from  myself.  Here  I  think  too  much  my 
own  thoughts.  Where  did  you  say?" 

"Galazatti's  across  the  street  is  a  nice  little  cafe" 
she  replied,  "and  he  serves  a  nice  table  d'hote." 

"Ah,  I  shall  go  there,  then.  Thank  you,  madam. 
Good-night!"  and  Von  Earwig  bowing  to  Miss 
Husted,  closed  the  front  door  quietly  and  went  into 
the  street. 


60 


Chapter  H>eben 

HEN  Anton  arose  the  next  morning  after  a 
refreshing  night's  rest,  he  became  conscious 
that  he  was  looking  at  the  world  through  dif 
ferent  coloured  spectacles;  and  that  there  was  no 
longer  a  dull  feeling  of  despair  gnawing  at  his  heart. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  years  his  plans  for  the  day 
did  not  include  a  search  in  this  or  that  direction  for 
his  lost  ones.  It  was  not  that  he  had  forgotten,  but 
he  thought  of  them  now  as  dead  and  gone;  and  this 
certainty,  this  lack  of  suspense,  lightened  his  heart  to 
such  an  extent  that  his  manner  was  almost  buoyant. 
Realising  the  fact  that  he  had  spent  nearly  all  of  the 
large  sum  of  money  he  brought  with  him  from  Ger 
many,  he  thought  of  his  future,  his  welfare.  To  do 
for  others,  he  must  first  do  for  himself ;  he  must  think 
of  his  music  again;  in  short,  he  must  earn  a  living. 
So,  after  a  light  breakfast  at  Galazatti's,  he  took  an 
inventory  of  his  available  assets.  They  included  some 
old  music;  some  compositions  which  he  would  now 
try  to  sell;  a  genuine  Amati  violin  worth  at  least* 
three  thousand  dollars;  a  grand  piano;  one  or  twoT 
paintings;  some  silverware,  presents,  and  jewelry;  and 
about  eight  hundred  dollars  in  cash. 

Von  Earwig  was  completely  bewildered;  he  had 
purposely  avoided  meeting  musicians  in  New  York 
and  scarcely  any  one  knew  him ;  those  who  had  known 
him  by  reputation  had  now  completely  forgotten  his 

61 


existence.  He  had  not  felt  sufficient  interest  in  af 
fairs  going  on  around  him  to  realise  the  state  of 
musical  art  in  America,  so  he  scarcely  knew  how  to 
begin.  It  seemed  like  the  commencement  of  a  new 
life.  The  period  was  that  between  Jenny  Lind  and 
Adelina  Patti,  and  he  soon  realised  that  musical  art 
was  at  its  lowest  ebb.  There  were  one  or  two  ambi 
tious  orchestra  conductors  in  America ;  one  in  Chicago 
trying  to  introduce  the  Wagnerian  polyphonic  school, 
and  perhaps  one  or  two  in  New  York;  but  the  public 
clamoured  after  divas,  prima  donnas  and  tenors  with 
temperaments  and  vocal  pyrotechnic  skill.  For 
orchestral  music  there  was  little  demand.  Wagner 
was  as  yet  unknown  to  the  public — certainly  he  was 
unheard  except  on  the  rarest  occasions  and  the  major 
ity  of  musicians  did  not  like  him  because  he  was 
difficult  to  play. 

So  it  happened  that  Von  Earwig's  compositions, 
which  were  of  the  modern  German  school  and  rather 
heavy,  did  not  find  a  ready  market,  in  fact  they  did 
not  find  a  market  at  all.  Day  after  day  he  would 
visit  the  music  stores  with  his  music  roll  tucked  under 
his  arm.  After  a  few  months  the  music  publishers 
used  to  smile  when  they  saw  him  coming  into  their 
places  of  business,  and  shake  their  heads  before  he 
had  a  chance  even  to  show  them  his  manuscripts.  As 
time  went  on  he  came  to  be  a  byword  among  them. 

"Here  comes  poor  old  Von  Earwig,"  they  would 
say,  and  then  they  would  smile  at  his  earnest  face  with 
its  sad,  longing  expression  and  sympathise  with  him 
for  his  beautiful  smile  of  resignation  as  he  folded  up 

62 


Chapter 

his  package  of  compositions  and  went  sadly  away. 
They  admired  his  technical  skill,  but  thought  him  very 
foolish  to  waste  his  time  on  such  "stuff"  as  they  called 
it.  They  advised  him  to  write  for  the  hour,  and  not 
for  posterity. 

"You  must  give  the  public  what  they  want,"  said 
Schumein. 

"How  can  you  tell  what  they  want  if  you  don't  try?" 
pleaded  Von  Earwig.  "If  you  give  them  only  what 
you  acknowledge  is  bad,  how  will  they  ever  know 
what  is  better?" 

"It's  no  use,"  was  Schumein's  reply,  "music  like 
yours  has  no  market  value.  We're  not  in  business 
for  our  health ;  once  strike  a  popular  tune  and  you'll 
be  famous!" 

Von  Earwig  had  never  mentioned  his  Leipsic  repu 
tation,  and  if  he  had,  in  all  probability,  it  would  have 
been  useless.  Seven  years  is  a  long  time  for  even  a 
genius  to  remain  in  obscurity. 

"Bring  in  a  good  waltz,"  said  one. 

"What  we  want  is  a  catchy  melody;  something  that 
everybody  whistles,"  said  another. 

Finally  they  were  too  busy  to  see  Von  Earwig  at 
all;  and  after  waiting  hours  and  hours  in  vain  efforts/ 
to  obtain  an  interview,  he  would  walk  home  slowly, 
thinking  over  the  events  of  the  day,  or  trying  to 
create  a  tune  that  might  make  an  appeal  to  the  music- 
loving,  or  rather  music-buying  public. 

"Alas!"  he  would  say  to  himself,  after  giving  up 
the  effort.  "I  do  not  understand  these  people.  The 
American  people  do  not  like  my  work."  It  did  not 

63 


occur  to  him  that  the  Americans  were  not  a  music- 
loving  nation,  at  least  not  at  that  period.  And  so  An 
ton  Von  Earwig  gradually  came  out  of  the  world  of 
dreams  into  the  world  of  life.  He  had  been  reborn, 
of  necessity,  for  he  was  nearly  down  to  his  last  penny. 
He  used  to  talk  over  the  condition  of  the  music  mar 
ket  with  Tagliafico,  our  old  friend,  Fico,  of  the  hall 
bedroom  on  the  top  floor  of  Miss  Husted's  estab 
lishment,  and  Pinac,  Fico's  friend,  who  occupied  the 
room  adjoining.  The  meeting  of  these  three  men, 
which  subsequently  resulted  in  a  friendship  lasting 
many  years,  came  about  as  follows: 

While  eating  dinner  at  Galazatti's  one  night,  Von  j 
Earwig  found  himself  at  the  same  table   as   Fico.  I 
Fico  bowed  to  him  and  he  graciously  acknowledged 
his  salute,  not  knowing  who  the  man  was,  but  vaguely 
remembering   his    features.      Fico    then    introduced 
Pinac,  his  fellow-lodger.     Fico  had  recognised  Von 
Earwig  as  the  occupant  of  the  first  floor  and  took  this 
opportunity  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  musi 
cian  whose  music  he  had  so  often  heard  on  the  piano  . 
— for  Von  Earwig  frequently  played  his  own  composi-  j 
tions  and  the  strains  were  wafted  through  the  open 
window.     Pinac  was  most  enthusiastic,  for  he  knew 
Von  Earwig  slightly  by  reputation.    He  had  been  in 
Dresden  and  he  had  heard  of  Anton  Von  Earwig,  the 
musical  conductor.     It  seemed  scarcely  possible  that 
the  gentleman  before  him  was  that  great  man. 

Von  Earwig  was  silent,  smiling  a  little  at  Pinac's 
enthusiasm,  but  as  he  did  not  deny  his  identity  Pinac 
felt  sure  that  he  was  right.  The  three  men  soon  be- 

64 


Cfjapter 

came  quite  friendly  and  often  met  in  the  little  cafe 
to  talk  things  over.  Galazatti's  was  frequented 
chiefly  by  foreigners  and  the  din  of  loud  voices  added 
to  the  rattle  and  clatter  of  knives  and  forks  made 
conversation  difficult.  But  its  patrons  soon  became 
used  to  this  and  the  table  d'hote  was  cheap  and  good 
at  the  price,  twenty-five  cents.  It  was  a  combination 
of  East  Side  Tivoli  and  French  Brasserie  and  Hun 
garian  Goulash  Rendezvous — a  tiny  cosmopolis  in  it 
self — and  it  did  a  rushing  business. 

So  the  months  dragged  along  in  unending  monotony. 
Poor  Von  Barwig  tried  hard  to  do  work  that 
would  please  the  gentlemen  who  controlled  the  music 
trades,  but  failed.  One  day,  while  looking  over  his 
manuscripts  to  discover  if  possible  the  cause  of  his 
failure,  he  was  struck  by  the  similarity  of  one  of  his 
compositions  to  another.  They  all  seemed  to  contain 
the  same  melody,  in  one  form  or  anothrr,  and  he  saw 
plainly  at  last  that  he  was  subconsciously  haunted  by 
the  leading  motif  of  the  first  movement  of  his  last 
symphony,  the  symphony  that  was  played  on  that 
dreadful  night  for  the  first  and  last  time.  The  in 
ference  was  plain  enough.  This  melody  haunted 
?him,  he  could  not  forget  it;  it  showed  itself  in  all 
ihis  work  and  he  realised  that  his  career  as  a  com 
poser  had  come  to  an  end. 

After  that  Von  Barwig  tore  up  all  his  compositions 
and  turned  his  attention  to  teaching,  an  occupation 
he  had  always  hated  ever  since  he  had  given  up 
the  professorship  of  counterpoint  and  harmony  in 
the  Leipsic  Conservatory.  Teaching  —  the  very 

65 


thought  had  made  him  shudder.  He  looked  about 
him  and  found  that  New  York  was  fast  moving 
uptown,  and  that  Houston  Street  was  not  a  good 
locality  for  a  musical  conservatory.  People  who 
could  afford  to  study  music  did  not  live  in  that  neigh 
bourhood;  but  he  could  not  summon  up  sufficient- 
energy  or  courage  to  leave  the  place.  He  had  come1 
to  like  the  old  house;  it  had  become  a  home  to  him 
now.  He  liked  Miss  Husted,  too,  though  she  made 
him  the  repository  for  all  her  troubles,  and  then  there 
were  Fico,  and  Pinac  and  Jenny — he  really  loved 
Jenny.  His  little  world  was  all  in  Houston  Street 
and  he  made  up  his  mind  not  to  leave  it,  even  if  the 
location  made  the  getting  of  pupils  harder.  Besides 
he  felt  that  he  was  not  a  fashionable  teacher;  he  could 
teach  only  those  who  learned  music  because  they 
loved  it  and  not  because  they  wanted  to  be  accom 
plished. 

Von  Earwig  did  not  speak  to  his  friends  of  all  this; 
his  pride  would  not  allow  him  to  discuss  his  personal 
affairs  with  them.  Besides  neither  Pinac  nor  Fico 
coulc1  throw  much  light  on  the  pupil  question,  for 
though  they  were  musicians,  yes,  for  they  played,  they 
did  not  teach.  Pinac  did  not  even  know  until  Von 
Barwig  showed  him  how  to  hold  his  violin  properly 
he  used  to  grab  it  with  his  whole  hand  instead  of  by 
his  finger  and  thumb;  and  as  for  Fico,  he  could  not 
read  music  until  Von  Barwig  taught  him,  but  played 
the  mandolin,  guitar  and  piano  by  ear.  These  men 
were  not  only  grateful  to  Von  Barwig  for  h>,«  kind 
ness,  but  they  loved  him,  and  recognising  in  him 

66 


Chapter 

real  artist  had  unbounded  respect  for  him.  As 
for  Von  Earwig,  he  found  mem  simple  fellows,  senti 
mental,  unpretentious  and  good-hearted,  and  he  liked 
them  and  felt  at  ease  with  them  because  they  did  not 
seek  to  probe  into  that  part  of  his  life  which  he  pre 
ferred  should  remain  unknown  to  them.  They  merely 
accepted  him  as  they  found  him  and  for  this  Von 
Earwig  was  grateful.  As  time  went  on,  Von  Earwig 
found  limself  badly  in  need  of  ready  money.  One 
day  when  Miss  Husted  came  for  her  rent,  he  hesi 
tated  before  he  paid  her;  he  had  forgotten  it  was  rent 
day  and  was  unprepared.  The  poor  lady  was  kind 
ness  itself,  but  her  kindness  embarrassed  Von  Earwig 
extremely,  for  he  had  never  been  in  a  position  in  his 
life  where  he  actually  needed  cash  for  his  daily  wants. 

"Leave  it  a  week,  a  month,  a  year,  my  dear  pro 
fessor!"  said  Miss  Husted,  and  she  implored  him 
not  to  pay  her  if  it  afforded  him  the  slightest  incon 
venience. 

"I  go  to  the  bank — If  you  come  in  an  hour  I  will 
have  it  for  you,"  said  poor  Von  Earwig,  quite  over 
come.  He  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  be  "behind,*1 
and  the  experience  was  painful  to  him. 
'  This  was  the  beginning  of  the  end,  and  the  valuable 
Amati  violin  soon  went  for  eight  hundred  dollars,  one- 
fourth  its  value,  to  a  scoundrelly  violin  maker  and 
dealer  who  told  Von  Earwig  he  had  tried  everywhere 
but  could  get  no  more  for  it,  since  there  was  a  doubt 
as  to  its  genuineness. 

Von  Earwig  took  the  money,  which  was  further  de 
creased  by  a  twenty  per  cent,  commission.  The  man 

61 


JEfje  JHufitc  ;fHas;ter 

told  him  he  was  very  lucky  to  get  it;  and  perhaps 
he  was. 

This  amount  tided  Von  Earwig  over  for  several 
months,  during  which  time  he  secured  several  pupils 
and  seemed  for  a  time  to  be  in  a  fair  way  to  make 
a  living.  Be  it  understood  that  he  was  no  longer 
the  Anton  Von  Earwig  who  lived  in  Leipsic  ten  years 
before.  Gone  was  the  fire  of  his  genius;  dead  was 
his  ambition.  His  soul  was  not  in  his  work — the 
man  was  alive,  but  the  artist  was  dead. 


68 


Chapter  Ctgfjt 

ND  so  the  years  passed  away;  one,  two,  three, 
Von  Earwig  did  not  keep  count  now.  One  year 
was  just  like  another,  equally  profitless,  equally 
monotonous;  the  struggle  for  existence  just  as  keen, 
the  interest  in  this  or  that  pupil  just  as  superficial,  the 
interest  in  obtaining  pupils  perhaps  the  greatest  of  all. 
But  the  drudgery  of  teaching  the  young  mind  to  dis 
tinguish  between  crotchet  and  quaver,  and  mark  time, 
mark  time,  wore  Von  Earwig  out. 

uGood  God,"  he  would  think,  "will  it  ever  come 
that  time  shall  cease  to  be,  and  I  shall  cease  to  mark 
it?"  The  old  man  often  smiled  as  he  contrasted  the 
Leipsic  days  with  the  present.  Then  he  had  but  to 
raise  his  arm  and  from  a  hundred  instruments  and  five 
hundred  voices  would  vibrate  sounds  of  beauty,  of 
colour,  of  joy,  in  harmony  and  rhythm.  Now  when 
he  beat  time  some  dirty-fingered  little  pupil  would 
tinkle  out  sounds  that  nearly  drove  him  mad  with 
their  monotony.  Von  Earwig  had  been  compelled  to 
sell  his  good  piano  and  rent  one  on  the  installment 
•plan;  a  cheap  tin-pan  affair,  with  a  sounding  board 
that  sent  forth  the  most  metallic  sort  of  music.  This 
went  on  until  Von  Earwig  hated  the  very  sound  of 
a  musical  instrument.  He  must  have  suffered  ter 
ribly,  but  he  made  no  mention  of  it.  At  the  close  of 
his  day's  work  he  would  shut  his  piano  wearily,  put 
away  his  violin  and  go  to  Galazatti's,  where  he  would 


meet  his  friends,  Fico  and  Pinac.  He  did  not  com 
plain,  but  they  did.  Fico  was  playing  the  mandolin 
on  a  Coney  Island  boat;  Pinac  was  doing  nothing, 
but  sat  in  Galazatti's  all  day.  When  they  complained 
to  Von  Earwig  of  their  ill  luck,  their  inability  to  ob 
tain  good  engagements  because  they  could  not  get*' 
into  the  Musical  Union,  Von  Earwig  did  not  spare' 
them.  He  told  them  plainly  that  they  had  talent  but 
that  they  were  lazy;  they  would  neither  study  nor 
practise,  and  yet  they  expected  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of 
labour  without  its  drudgery.  Both  Fico  and  Pinac  felt 
that  he  was  right,  and  from  that  day  forward  they 
did  practise  and  study,  with  the  result  that  a  year  or 
so  later  they  were  admitted  into  the  Union ;  but  times 
were  hard  and  good  regular  engagements  were  rare. 

One  day  while  Von  Earwig  was  labouring  hard 
to  beat  time  and  other  musical  values  into  the  head  of 
a  square-browed,  freckle-faced  youth  of  nineteen, 
whom  nature  had  ordained  for  the  carpenter's  bench 
and  not  for  the  piano,  a  knock  came  at  the  door,  and 
on  invitation  to  enter,  in  came  a  little  fellow  not  more 
than  nine  years  of  age,  black-haired,  dark-eyed,  of 
olive  complexion,  his  features  plainly  bearing  the 
stamp  of  his  Hebraic  origin.  As  he  stood  at  the  door 
trying  to  speak,  Von  Earwig  could  not  help  comment- 
ing  on  his  finely  chiselled  features  and  the  intelligence 
and  fire  in  his  eyes. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  little  man?"  inquired  Von 
Earwig.  His  soft  voice  and  kindly  look  of  interest 
gave  the  boy  courage;  for  he  was  obviously  afraid  to 
speak. 

70 


Chapter  Cigfit 

"Come  to  me,"  said  Von  Earwig  tenderly,  and  after 
.he  had  closed  the  door,  he  placed  his  arm  around  the 
boy's  neck.  The  old  man's  trained  eye  discerned  in 
a  moment  the  sensitive  play  of  the  lad's  mouth,  the 
quivering  of  the  nostril  that  denotes  what  we  call 
I  temperament. 

"I  want  to  study — I  want  to  learn — and  they  won't 
let  me,"  blurted  out  the  boy,  bursting  into  tears. 

"Who  won't  let  you?"  gently  inquired  Von  Earwig. 

"My  people,"  sobbed  the  child. 

"Hully  Gee,  you're  in  luck!"  interrupted  the  shock- 
headed  youth.  "I  wish  my  people  wouldn't  let  me." 

"You  go  home,  Underman !  You  have  no  soul;  this 
•child  has." 

"You  bet  I  will !"  and  with  a  dart  at  his  hat,  the  big 
boy  seized  it  and  ran  out  of  the  door  in  a  moment. 

"So  you  want  to  study  music  and  they  won't  let 
you?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I — they'll  let  me  play  at  night,  but  in  the 
daytime,  I — I  must  work." 

In  a  short  half  hour  Von  Earwig  made  the  discovery 
that  the  child  was  a  musical  genius.  He  had  taken 
no  lessons  and  yet  his  manipulation  of  the  keys  was 
marvellous,  but  all  by  ear.  Chords,  arpeggios,  di- 
<piinished  sevenths,  modulation,  expression,  all  were 
mixed  up  in  formless  melody.  The  boy  knew  nothing, 
but  felt  everything.  In  Von  Earwig's  experience  it 
had  generally  been  the  other  way. 

"Who  sent  you  to  me?"  asked  Von  Earwig  after 
he  had  heard  the  child  play. 

"The  sign  says  that  you  teach  music,  and  I — I — theo 

71 


I  saw  your  name  outside."  The  little  fellow  seemed 
to  think  that  he  had  committed  some  crime  in  coming 
in  unasked.  Von  Earwig  put  him  at  his  ease,  then 
called  in  Pinac  and  Fico,  and  they  listened  to  the 
child's  playing  in  open-mouthed  astonishment.  Bit 
by  bit  Von  Earwig  elicited  his  history  from  him./ 
His  name,  it  appeared,  was  Josef  Branski,  and  he  was* 
the  oldest  of  seven  children.  His  father  and  mother 
had  come  from  Warsaw,  in  Poland,  and  worked  in 
a  sweat  shop  below  Grand  Street  near  the  river. 
Josef  himself  worked  there,  too,  and  helped  to  sup 
port  his  family,  who  all  lived  in  three  small  rooms. 
His  parents  would  miss  him  and  be  angry,  he  said, 
and  this  partly  accounted  for  the  little  fellow's 
anxiety.  Von  Earwig  shook  his  head;  he  already  had 
many  pupils  who  couldn't  pay,  as  well  as  several  who 
didn't  pay,  but  here  was  one  who  had  to  steal  the 
time  in  which  to  learn  his  beloved  art.  It  would  be 
a  crime  not  to  teach  the  boy,  he  thought,  so  he  de 
termined  to  take  him  as  his  pupil. 

Some  six  months  later  an  excited  Pole  bounded  into 
Von  Earwig's  room  and  in  a  mixture  of  Polish,  Ger 
man  and  Hebrew  threatened  Von  Earwig  with  the 
law  if  he  continued  to  take  his  son  away  from  him. 
He  was,  as  nearly  as  Von  Earwig  could  make  out, 
little  Josef  Branski's  father.  Von  Earwig  vainly 
endeavoured  to  explain  to  the  man  that  the  boy  could 
make  his  parents  rich  if  they  allowed  him  to  study  and 
develop  himself  as  an  artist,  but  they  must  give  him 
time  to  practise,  instead  of  compelling  him  to  sew  at 
a  machine  twelve  or  fourteen  hours  a  day.  The  older 

72 


Chapter  Ctgijt 

Branski  either  could  not  or  would  not  understand. 
He  declared  that  he  did  not  want  his  son  to  be  a 
worthless  musician  (for  he  evidently  associated  Von 
Earwig  with  the  gipsy,  an  inferior  type  of  musician) 
and  could  not  be  made  to  understand  that  the  boy  had 
talent,  even  genius.  He  needed  the  boy's  help  and 
wanted  no  further  interference  from  Von  Earwig. 
Von  Earwig  saw  that  it  was  useless  and  gave  up  try 
ing  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose  in  condemning 
the  boy  to  the  merciless  grind  of  a  sweat  shop  ma 
chine.  So  it  was  that  little  Josef  came  at  night  only 
for  his  lessons.  This  went  on  for  some  time,  but  Von 
Earwig  shook  his  head  sadly  as  he  saw  that  the  boy 
was  tired  out  with  his  day's  work  and  could  not  take 
in  the  Instruction.  Finally  he  told  Josef  that  he  had 
better  not  come  again,  as  the  strain  of  night  study  fol 
lowing  the  grind  of  machine  work  during  the  day  was 
plainly  telling  on  his  health.  But  the  boy  pleaded 
hard : 

"Take  away  my  music  and  you  take  away  my  life,'1 
he  said.  "Some  day  father  and  mother  will  see  and 
then  they'll  let  me  study  with  you." 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  the  boy  sadly. 

"They  love  me  and  they  want  to  see  me  famous,  but 
they  don't  understand.  They  work  so  hard,  they 
have  so  little  to  eat,  and  there  are  so  many  of  them. 
Mother  can't  work,  you  know,  she  has  to  nurse  the 
baby.  I  must  do  all  I  can;  I'm  the  eldest,  it's  my 
duty!" 

The  boy's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  thought 
feif  the  hardships  his  parents  went  through.  "Father 

73 


it  faster 

worked  till  twelve  o'clock  last  night;  he's  working 
now,"  and  the  little  chap  looked  at  the  cuckoo  clock, 
which  was  just  striking  ten. 

"How  long  will  it  be  before  I  can  play  to  the  gentle 
men  you're  going  to  take  me  to?"  he  asked  wistfully,, 
|  "I  think  you'd  better  have  a  little  rest  before  you 
play  to  them,  Josef.  You've  been  working  very  hard; 
up  at  five,  to  bed  at  midnight !"  Von  Earwig  noticed 
that  Josef's  face  was  peaked  and  white,  but  his  great 
black  eyes  looked  appealingly  at  his  master. 

"But  I  must  play  to  them ;  they'll  give  me  money  and 
I  can  give  the  money  to  father.  Then  he'll  believe 
me,  and  he'll  believe  you,"  said  the  boy  in  a  tearful 
voice.  His  urgent,  appealing  manner  had  its  effect  on 
Von  Earwig. 

"I'll  take  you  to-morrow  morning,"  he  said.  "Will 
your  father  let  you  go?" 

"I'll  beg  him,  I'll  beg  him,  oh,  so  hard,  on  my 
bended  knees.  He  won't  refuse,  he  can't  refuse!  If 
he  does,  I — I'll  just  make  an  excuse  and  leave  the 
machine  as  if  I  were  going  for  oil,  or  cotton  or  some 
thing.  I'll  come!  Don't  disappoint  me,  will  you?" 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that  the  boy  should  call  for 

^Von  Earwig  on  the  morrow  and  that  they  should  go 

to  Steinway  Hall,  where  Josef  should  play  before 

some  musical  gentlemen  that  Von  Earwig  had  come 

to  know. 

The  morning  arrived,  but  little  Josef  did  not  ap 
pear.  After  waiting  three  hours,  Von  Earwig  made 
up  his  mind  that  the  father  would  not  let  the  boy 
go,  so  he  sadly  gave  up  the  idea  for  that  day,  and 

74 


Chapter  <£tg»)t 

waited  till  evening  for  Josef  to  come  as  usual  for  his 
lesson.  When  the  child  did  not  come,  Von  Earwig 
experienced  again  that  sensation  of  fear,  for  the  first 
time  in  several  years;  and  with  it  came  the  train  of 
sickening  thought,  the  old  dread  of  impending  evil. 
Von  Earwig  soon  threw  this  off,  and  waited  for  events 
with  as  much  calmness  and  patience  as  he  could  mus 
ter  up. 

A  week  passed,  and  Miss  Husted  could  not  under 
stand  why  Von  Earwig  spoke  in  such  a  low  tone 
when  he  replied  to  her  cheery  good-evening.  Mrs. 
Mangenborn  put  it  down  to  hard  times.  Jenny  knew 
something  was  wrong,  for  he  said  very  little  to  her 
as  she  swept  out  his  room.  She  knew  something  had 
happened,  but  experience  had  taught  her  that  sym 
pathy  doesn't  ask  questions.  As  for  Pinac  and  Ficoy 
they  were  too  full  of  th^ir  own  affairs  to  notice  any 
thing  unless  it  was  brought  directly  to  their  attention, 
and  as  Von  Earwig  made  it  a  rule  never  to  burden 
other  people  with  his  troubles  they  were  in  blissful 
ignorance  of  his  mental  perturbation.  So  it  went  on 
till  the  tenth  day,  when  Von  Earwig  made  up  his 
mind  to  go  and  call  on  his  little  pupil  and  find  out 
what  was  the  matter. 

After  much  hunting  and  questioning,  Von  Earwig 
found  the  family  he  was  looking  for  on  the  fourth 
floor  of  a  crowded  tenement  house  in  Rivington 
Street.  He  heard  the  whirr  of  sewing  machines  and 
as  he  opened  the  door  he  saw  the  father  of  his  pupil, 
and  several  others,  all  sewing  rapidly  as  if  for  dear 
life.  The  six  machines  made  such  a  noise  he  could 

75 


tc  JHatfter 

barely  hear  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  As  soon  as 
Branski  saw  Von  Earwig,  he  jumped  up  from  his 
machine  and  railed  at  him  in  terms  of  bitter  re 
proach.  It  was  well  perhaps  that  Von  Earwig  could 
not  understand  and  that  the  noise  of  the  machines  and 
the  crying  of  babies  prevented  his  hearing  what  was 
said.  The  father  pointed  into  the  next  room  and  mo 
tioned  him  to  go  in  there.  Pushing  aside  a  little 
chintz  curtain,  for  there  was  no  door,  Von  Earwig 
saw  the  object  of  his  search  lying  on  a  cot  in  the 
corner  of  a  small  inner  room  with  no  window,  only 
an  air  shaft  for  light  and  air,  moaning  in  the  grasp 
of  mortal  illness. 

The  mother  sat  by  the  bedside  of  the  sick  boy  rock 
ing  herself  slowly,  and  at  the  same  time  holding  a 
babe  to  her  heart.  The  little  one  was  trying  in  vain 
to  get  sustenance  enough  to  satisfy  its  pangs  of  hun 
ger  and  crying  because  it  couldn't.  Another  child  of 
two  years  of  age  was  playing  on  the  floor,  banging 
two  pieces  of  wood  together  and  shouting  gleefully 
when  it  succeeded  in  making  a  noise.  The  woman 
looked  at  her  sick  son  helplessly  and  then  at  Von 
Earwig. 
.  "Doctor?"  she  asked  feebly. 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head  slowly.  He  saw  that 
his  little  pupil  was  too  weak  to  recognise  him  and 
gazed  at  him  too  moved  to  speak.  His  lips  quiv 
ered,  and  kneeling  down  by  the  lad's  bedside  he  wept 
scalding  hot  tears  of  agony,  for  he  felt  rather  than 
knew  that  the  boy  was  dying.  It  appeared  from  the 
mother's  story  that  when  Josef  had  reached  home  that 


Chapter  <£tgf)t 

night  he  had  been  in  too  excited  a  state  to  sleep.  All 
night  he  moaned  and  tossed — the  next  morning  he 
was  delirious.  The  prospect  of  deliverance  from  his 
life  of  drudgery  had  been  too  much  for  him  and  had 
resulted  in  brain  fever.  The  doctor  said  he  had  a 
bad  cold,  then  finally  announced  that  tubercular  com-, 
plications  had  set  in,  and  as  nearly  as  Von  Earwig 
could  find  out  the  boy  was  now  rapidly  wasting  away 
with  the  dreaded  white  disease.  Von  Earwig  looked 
around  him  helplessly;  the  light  was  bad,  the  air 
rank  poison  and  the  noise  and  commotion  distracting. 
"What  hope  could  there  be  for  his  recovery?*7 
thought  Von  Earwig,  and  he  then  and  there  resolved 
on  a  plan  of  action.  Before  he  left  the  house  he  had 
given  the  father  all  the  money  he  had  and  secured  a 
room  with  plenty  of  light  and  air  and  a  nurse  for  the 
boy.  His  efforts  were  crowned  with  success.  In  a 
few  weeks  little  Josef  was  gently  nursed  back  to  life, 
and  at  the  first  signs  of  returning  health  Von  Earwig 
saw  to  it  that  he  was  sent  South.  "His  only  chance," 
the  doctor  had  said.  It  was  Von  Earwig  who  gave 
him  that  chance,  but  in  order  to  do  so  he  parted  with 

his  last  remaining  bit  of  valuable  jewelry. 

***** 

It  was  some  time  before  Von  Earwig  recovered  fromi 
the  effects  of  witnessing  the  sufferings  of  his  pupil. 
When  Jenny  asked  him  about  Josef  Branski  he  smiled 
sadly  and  shook  his  head. 

"The  doctor  says  it  may  be  years  before  he  can 
touch  an  instrument  again.  Poor  Josef — his  little 
frame  completely  went  to  pieces  under  the  burning 

77 


4»ttgic  faster 

ifre  of  his  genius;  if  any  one  was  ever  born  out  of 
harmony  with  his  surroundings,  he  was.  He  might 
have  become  a  great  artist,"  added  Von  Earwig 
thoughtfully  and  then  he  sighed.  It  was  a  great 
struggle  for  him  to  send  the  money  to  keep  the  little 
chap  alive  down  South,  but  he  made  the  sacrifice 
without  a  murmur.  If  only  the  boy  recovered,  it 
would  be  sufficient  reward  for  all  his  work.  But  it 
was  not  to  be,  for  a  few  weeks  later  they  brought 
him  the  news  that  his  little  pupil  had  died  peacefully, 
without  pain.  Von  Earwig  said  nothing — his  mouth 
tightened  a  little  and  he  smiled,  a  sad,  far-away  smile. 
Miss  Husted  tried  to  cheer  him  up.  She  had  learned 
from  Jenny  the  details  of  the  affair  and  her  heart 
went  out  to  the  old  man  in  womanly  sympathy.  She 
had  liked  the  boy,  too,  and  when  he  came  for  his  les 
son  had  given  him  many  a  slice  of  cake,  for  she 
thought  he  always  looked  pinched  and  hungry,  under 
fed,  as  she  called  it. 

"Do  come  and  have  a  bit  of  dinner  with  us,  profes 
sor,"  she  said.  With  her  dinner  was  a  universal 
panacea,  but  Von  Earwig  declined  with  many  thanks. 
He  had  grown  to  like  Miss  Husted  and  realised  that 
she  was  far,  far  above  the  average  woman  of  her 
, class.  Moreover,  he  felt  that  she  liked  him,  and  sym 
pathy  begets  sympathy. 

"Professor,  you  are  always  doing  things  for  folks, 
but  you  never  allow  folks  to  do  anything  for  you," 
said  Miss  Husted,  slightly  piqued  by  his  refusal  of 
her  invitation. 

"Ah,  then  I  accept!"  said  Von  Earwig,  seeing  that 

78 


Chapter 

she  was  hurt,  "just  to  show  you  that  you  are  more 
powerful  than  my  own  resolutions.  But  I  warn  you 
I  shall  be  sad  company;  I  don't  feel  quite  myself  ta 
night.  It  is  better,  far  better,  that  little  Josef  should 
have — left  us,  for  I  do  not  think  he  would  have  ever 
been  strong  enough  to  play  again,  but — "  and  Von 
Earwig  sighed,  "it  is  sad  enough.  A  little  light  pre-( 
maturely  snuffed  out  is  always  sad.  Ah,  well! 
I  won't  make  you  miserable.  Life  is  full  of 
sorrow  for  us  all;  don't  let  me  selfishly  add  to 
yours." 

At  dinner  he  was  the  life  of  the  party.  He  pinched 
Jenny's  cheek;  he  joked  with  Miss  Husted;  he 
smiled  at  Thurza,  and  he  even  ventured  a  few  re 
marks  to  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  whom  he  cordially  dis 
liked.  Every  one  present  thought  that  Von  Earwig 
was  as  happy  as  could  be. 

That  night,  after  he  had  closed  the  door  of  his 
room  he  sighed  deeply  and  looked  out  of  his  window 
into  the  street  at  the  blinking  lamplights.  Once  more 
that  mournful  far-away  expression  came  into  his  face 
and  he  asked  himself:  "Why?  Why  is  it  my  fate 
to  lose  everything  I  love?  Have  I  not  yet  drunk 

the  dregs  of  my  cup  of  sorrow?" 

*  jfc  *  *  # 

"Good-night,  professor,"  came  Miss  Husted's 
cheery  voice  from  the  hallway,  interrupting  his 
reverie. 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Von  Earwig,"  said  Jenny,  as  she 
passed  his  room  on  her  way  to  bed.  He  opened  the 
door  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 


"Good-night,  good-night,  my  friends,"  said  Von 
Earwig.  The  sound  of  their  voices  comforted  him 
not  a  little  and  then  he  thought,  "I  mustn't  be  un 
grateful;  there  are  many,  many  kind  hearts  in  this 
world."  And  he  slept  peacefully  all  that  night. 


ao 


Chapter  jiline 

E  next  morning,  while  Von  Earwig  was  wait- 
ing  for  a  pupil — he  had  very  few  in  these  days 
— Jenny  came  into  his  room  with  a  letter,  at  the 
sight  of  which  his  heart  beat  rapidly,  for  it  was  post 
marked  Germany.  The  handwriting  was  in  a  boyish 
scrawl  he  did  not  recognise. 

"Not  many  pupils  to-day?"  ventured  Jenny. 

"No,  they  don't  come;  I'm  afraid  this  is  not  just 
exactly  the  neighbourhood.  New  York  is  going  up 
town.  I  gave  only  fifteen  lessons  last  week." 

"That's  not  bad,  is  it?"  asked  Jenny. 

"Not  so  bad  when  they  pay,  but  they  don't,"  laughed 
Von  Earwig,  and  seeing  that  his  visitor  was  in  no 
hurry  to  leave  him,  Von  Earwig  ventured  to  open  his 
letter  and  read  it.  He  read  it  again  and  then  looked 
at  Jenny  with  such  a  perplexed  expression  on  his  face 
that  she  was  forced  to  laugh  in  spite  of  herself. 

"Young  Poons  is  coming,"  he  said  finally. 

"Is  he?"  replied  Jenny  doubtfully. 

"Yes,  he  is  coming.  He  is  the  son  of  an  old  friend; 
'a  very  dear  old  friend.  His  name  is  August  and  he 
wants  me  to — to  give  him  a  start  in  life.  He  is  a 
'cello  player.  You  know  what  is  a  'cello?  It's  a 
large  violin  and  stands  up  when  you  play  it,  so,"  and 
he  took  his  own  violin  and  placing  it  between  his  knees 
showed  her  how  the  'cello  was  manipulated. 

"He  sails  on  the  steamship  City  of  Berlin.  He  is 

81 


coming  here  to  make  his  fortune,"  and  Von  Barwig 
laughed  at  the  idea  of  making  a  fortune  at  music  in 
America. 

"How  old  is  he?"  asked  Jenny. 

"Hum — he  must  be  seventeen  by  this  time!" 
Jenny  became  quite  interested.  "I  knew  him  when 
he  was  quite  a  little  chap;  his  father  was  a  horn4 
player  in  my  orchestra  at — at — "  Von  Barwig  hesi 
tated;  "in  Germany.  I  must  help  him.  Yes,  Jenny, 
I  must  help  him.  Poor  old  August,  I  must  be  a 
father  to  his  son!  He  was  a  dear  little  chap," 
he  said  reminiscently.  "Tell  your  aunt  we  shall 
want  one  of  her  bedrooms  on  the  top  floor  if  it  is  at 
liberty." 

"The  one  next  to  Mr.  Pinac  is  empty.  Aunt  will 
be  so  pleased  that  a  friend  of  yours  is  going  to  take 
it."  And  Jenny  rushed  off  to  acquaint  her  aunt  with 
the  good  news. 

Von  Barwig  told  the  news  of  the  impending  arrival 
of  his  friend's  son  to  Pinac  and  Fico,  and  the  three 
men  went  down  to  the  docks  to  meet  him.  At  the 
docks  they  learned  that  he  had  arrived  with  eleven 
hundred  other  steerage  passengers  and  had  landed  at 
Castle  Garden,  so  they  went  down  to  the  Battery  to 
try  and  find  him.  They  found  him  in  an  inner  room 
off  the  immigrants'  reception  hall,  sitting  on  an  old 
trunk,  and  busily  engaged  in  trying  to  prevent  his 
'cello,  which  was  protected  only  by  a  green  bag,  from 
being  smashed  by  the  rushing,  gesticulating  crowd  of 
baggage  men,  porters  and  immigrants.  With  his 
round,  smiling  face  and  blond  hair  he  was  the  picture 

82 


Cfjapter  Jline 

of  his  father,  and  Von  Earwig,  recognising  him  in  a 
moment,  embraced  him  cordially. 

"I  am  to  be  sent  back,"  he  cried  in  German. 

"Nonsense!"  said  Von  Earwig,  placing  his  arm 
around  the  young  man  affectionately.  After  Von 
^Earwig  had  introduced  his  friend,  they  noticed  his 
crestfallen  manner. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Pinac,  who  could  not 
understand  German,  but  who  knew  something  was 
wrong,  and  wanted  to  show  Poons  that  he  knew  the 
ropes  in  the  States.  Poons  poured  out  a  tale  of  woe 
which  was  intended  to  touch  Von  Earwig's  heart  and 
gain  his  sympathy,  instead  of  which  it  made  him 
laugh  heartily. 

"Some  one  is  investing  his  money  for  him  and 
hasn't  come  back  yet,"  Von  Earwig  confided  to  his 
friends;  and  they  laughed  too.  Poons  could  not 
understand  why  the  men  laughed  at  his  troubles. 
The  simple  German  lad  had  been  swindled  out  of  all 
his  money,  two  hundred  marks,  by  the  simplest  and 
most  transparent  of  the  many  methods  of  swindling, 
the  confidence  game,  and  the  immigration  authorities 
had  refused  to  allow  him  to  land,  as  he  had  no  means 
of  subsistence.  Von  Earwig  had  very  little  money 
with  him,  so  he  consulted  with  his  friends.  They  were 
playing  in  a  cafe  at  night  and  had  a  few  dollars  in 
their  pockets,  which  they  cheerfully  handed  to  Von 
Earwig.  Between  them  they  managed  to  find  the 
necessary  money  and  Poons  was  allowed  to  land.  On 
the  way  uptown  the  boy  was  profuse  in  his  gratitude 
for  the  money  that  Von  Earwig  had  sent  to  his  mother 

83  ' 


Jflaster 

while  she  lived.  It  was  she  who  had  given  her  son 
Von  Earwig's  address  and  begged  him  to  seek  him  out 
in  America  and  greet  him  for  her.  Poons  was  greatly 
astonished  at  Von  Earwig's  appearance  and  condition, 
for  he  had  always  heard  of  him  as  one  of  the  great 
conductors  of  Germany.  He  did  not  understand  how 
Herr  Von  Earwig  could  be  so  poor,  but  he  accepted 
the  facts  as  they  were  and  ceased  to  ask  himself  any 
further  questions. 

In  due  course  they  arrived  at  Miss  Husted's  and 
young  Poons,  bag  and  baggage  and  'cello,  was 
shortly  afterward  ensconced  in  a  hall  bedroom  on  the 
top  floor  of  that  lady's  establishment.  Von  Earwig 
hurried  to  his  room,  locked  the  door  and  looked 
around  him.  A  little  later  when  he  let  himself  quietly 
into  the  street,  he  had  under  his  arm,  carefully 
wrapped  up,  his  cuckoo  clock  and  a  couple  of  pic 
tures.  That  night  at  Galazatti's,  when  he  handed  to 
Pinac  and  Fico  the  money  he  had  borrowed  from 
them  at  Castle  Garden  and  paid  for  the  little  dinner 
which  he  gave  them  to  celebrate  the  arrival  of  Poons 
in  America,  they  did  not  suspect  that  he  had  spent 

the  very  last  dollar  he  had  in  the  world. 

***** 

Young  Poons  was  not  a  success  at  first.  He  had  a 
good  technique  and  was  a  well-grounded  musician,* 
but  he  could  not  get  an  engagement  suited  to  him,  as 
he  was  not  in  the  Union,  and  the  foolish  boy  would 
not  play  dance  music.  He  said  he  couldn't,  and  un 
fortunately  the  responsibility  for  his  financial  condi 
tion  rested  on  Von  Earwig.  It  was  he  who  was  com- 

84 


Chapter  JJine 

pelled  to  make  arrangements  with  Miss  Husted  and 
it  was  a  hard  blow  to  him  to  have  the  additional  in- 
cumbrance,  especially  when  times  were  so  hard  and  pu 
pils  so  scarce.  It  may  be  imagined  that  Miss  Husted 
did  not  take  very  kindly  to  the  new  arrival,  who 
i  was  unable  to  pay  even  his  first  week's  room  rent. 
'Of  course  she  sympathised  with  his  misfortune,  but 
thought  he  should  have  taken  care  of  his  money  and 
not  have  handed  it  to  the  first  person  who  asked  for 
it,  so  that  now  he  was  a  pauper.  She  discussed  this 
delicate  point  with  Mrs.  Mangenborn  in  the  strict 
privacy  of  her  room,  but  Jenny's  ears  were  very  sharp 
and  her  sympathy  went  out  to  young  Poons.  "Poor 
young  man,"  she  thought,  "what  a  pity  that  he  had 
been  robbed."  That  his  mother  and  father  were 
dead  added  to  the  romance,  and  she  felt  a  sort  of  a 
fellow-orphan's  interest  in  him.  "Poor  boy!  robbed 
of  his  fortune  on  his  arrival  in  a  strange  country; 
penniless  and  homeless;  can't  speak  a  word  of  Eng 
lish  ;  as  helpless  as  a  child."  The  maternal  instinct  in 
the  child  was  aroused,  and  his  large  innocent  blue 
Oyes  and  blond  hair  made  a  very  strong  appeal  to 
her.  He  needed  a  mother  and  she  determined  to  be 
a  mother  to  him.  So,  many  a  little  delicacy  was  left 
surreptitiously  in  hie  room;  now  a  box  of  chocolates, 
now  a  slice  of  cake,  or  even  a  few  flowers.  When 
young  Poons  would  thank  Miss  Husted  for  these 
attentions  in  the  choicest  German  that  lady  would 
turn  on  him  and  tell  him  to  mind  his  own  business, 
and  he  would  smile  and  bow  deferentially  to  her, 
saying,  "Ja,  Frau  Hooston." 


jflaster 

As  the  weeks  went  on,  the  struggle  for  Von  Earwig 
to  pay  expenses  became  greater  and  greater.  Poons 
saw  that  it  was  an  effort  and  determined  to  sink  his 
pride,  so  he  begged  Pinac  to  help  him  get  something 
for  him  to  do;  anything,  anywhere.  It  was  a  great, 
day  for  Poons  when  Fico  announced  to  him  that  the 
proprietor  of  the  cafe  where  they  played  had  given 
them  permission  to  bring  him  and  his  'cello  on  trial 
for  a  week  at  a  salary  of  six  dollars  and  his  supper, 
at  the  end  of  the  night  concert.  Jenny  was  quite 
proud.  "I  told  you  that  Mr.  Poons  would  succeed," 
she  said  joyfully  to  her  aunt. 

"Wait,"  replied  Miss  Husted,  "he's  not  out  of  the 
woods  yet." 

But  she  was  mistaken,  for  he  held  on  to  his 
engagement  and  at  the  end  of  the  week  was  taken 
on  permanently.  This  was  most  fortunate,  for  by  this 
time  Von  Earwig  had  completely  denuded  his  room 
of  all  superfluous  articles  of  value;  even  the  fine  old 
prints  that  had  adorned  his  bedroom  went  for  a  mere 
trifle.  A  silver  baton  that  had  been  given  him  by 
the  director  of  the  Gewandhaus  was  the  last  thing  to 
go.  It  was  quite  a  wrench  to  part  with  it,  for  it  was 
the  last  link  between  Von  Earwig  and  his  musical 
past. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  lowered  his  prices  for  music 
lessons  in  the  hopes  of  increasing  the  number  of  his 
pupils,  and  at  Miss  Husted's  suggestion  even  had  a 
new  sign  made  with  large  letters  in  gold-leaf.  But 
pupils  did  not  come,  and  Von  Earwig  felt  that  he 
was  indeed  doomed  to  failure.  Everything  he 

86 


Chapter  Jlttu 

touched  turned  to  dross;  his  one  pupil  of  promise  had 
died;  there  was  no  future,  no  outlook,  no  hope,  and 
yet  he  did  not  give  up,  nor  did  he  speak  of  his  troubles 
to  his  friends.  How  he  kept  Miss  Husted  paid  up 
she  never  knew,  and  yet,  punctually  every  week,  he 
Jianded  to  her  the  sum  of  money  due  her.  When  he 
suggested  taking  a  smaller  room  upstairs  she  offered 
to  lower  the  price  of  the  room  he  was  occupying. 
This  sacrifice  the  old  man  would  not  accept;  so  he 
remained  where  he  was,  always  hoping,  hoping,  hop 
ing.  He  did  not  complain  directly  to  her,  but  she 
knew  that  he  was  taking  in  little  or  no  money.  She 
blamed  him  for  not  being  more  exacting  with  those 
who  were  indebted  to  him,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact 
had  he  been  able  to  collect  all  that  was  owing  to  him 
he  would  have  been  in  far  better  circumstances;  but 
no  one  seemed  to  think  he  needed  money — he  had 
such  a  prosperous  air. 

"What  can  I  do?"  said  Von  Earwig  apologetically, 
when  she  told  him  to  sue  his  delinquent  pupils.  "I 
tell  them  their  course  of  lessons  is  finished  and  they 
make  no  reply,  or  if  they  do,  it  is  an  excuse  or  a 
promise.  I  cannot  go  to  law  with  them,  and  if  I 
could,  just  think  what  it  would  cost  for  the  lawyer! 
Besides,  they  are  very  poor — these  neighbours  of  ours. 
Music  with  them  is  a  luxury,  not  a  necessity.  Poor 
souls,  it  brings  a  little  joy  into  their  lives!  They 
struggle  so  hard  to  get  higher  in  the  scale  of  existence; 
why  should  I  impede  their  progress  by  demanding  my 
pound  of  flesh?  No,  my  dear  Miss  Husted,  they 
do  the  best  they  can;  but  they  are  poor." 


faster 

"And  so  are  you,"  replied  Miss  Husted,  shaking 
her  curls. 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head  dubiously.  "I'm  afraid 
— I — I  don't  put  my  heart  into  my  work."  He  did 
not  like  to  tell  her  he  thought  the  neighborhood  he 
lived  in  was  partly  to  blame. 

"Who  could  put  soul  into  a  thing  like  that?"  and" 
he  pointed  to  a  cheap  violin  he  had  bought  to  play 
to  his  pupils  when  he  taught  them.  "Or  that?"  and 
he  dropped  the  lid  of  his  piano  to  show  his  contempt 
for  the  tin  pan,  called  by  courtesy  a  concert  grand. 
Miss  Husted  looked  sad;  the  ever-present  tear  was 
close  at  hand  and  Von  Earwig  saw  it  coming. 

"But,  never  mind,  my  dear  Miss  Husted;  all  comes 
right  in  the  end !  It's  all  for  some  good  or  other. 
I  can't  see  it  myself,  but  I  know  it's  all  for  my  good. 
Come!  Cheer  up,  cheer  up!"  and  he  looked  at  her 
with  such  a  beatific  smile  that  she  thought  for  the 
moment  that  she  was  very  unhappy  and  that  he  was 
trying  to  help  her. 

"Very  well,  I  will,"  she  said  resignedly,  allowing 
herself  to  be  comforted. 

That  was  one  of  Von  Earwig's  individual  traits. 
No  one  ever  thought  of  cheering  him  up,  for  no  one 
knew  that  he  suffered,  except  perhaps  Jenny.  She 
alone  saw  through  his  smile,  and  felt  rather  than 
knew  that  it  hid  a  heart  torn  with  suffering  and  emo 
tion. 

A  few  days  after  this  Von  Earwig  read  in  one  of 
the  papers  that  a  man  named  Van  Praag,  whom  he 
knew  years  before  in  Berlin  as  a  ticket-taker  in  one 

88 


Cfjapter 

of  the  theatres,  was  going  to  give  a  series  of  concerts 
in  one  of  the  large  concert  halls  in  New  York.  He 
mustered  up  courage  to  go  and  see  him.  Van  Praag 
received  him  cordially  and  invited  him  to  dinner  that 
evening  at  one  of  the  big  hotels.  Von  Earwig  put 
on  his  old  dress  suit,  and  Houston  Mansion  quickly 
recognised  the  fact.  Miss  Husted  especially  was' 
most  enthusiastic. 

"Oh,  professor,  how  well  you  look!"  she  cried. 
"Mrs.  Mangenborn,  do  come  and  see  the  professor 
with  his  evening  clothes  on,  he  looks  a  perfect  pic 
ture  !" 

Von  Earwig  was  compelled  to  leave  an  hour  before 
the  time  appointed  for  the  dinner,  in  order  to  escape 
from  the  congratulations  of  his  friends.  That  night, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  begged  for  a  position. 
He  had  failed  at  composing,  at  teaching,  at  playing, 
but  surely  he  could  still  conduct  an  orchestra.  The 
desire  for  success  grew  on  him  again.  Van  Praag 
seemed  convinced,  and  at  the  end  of  the  dinner,  after 
taking  his  address,  he  promised  Von  Earwig  he  would 
do  what  he  could;  but  he  must  consult  the  director 
first,  etc.,  etc. 

Von  Earwig  went  home  that  night  almost  happy.  • 
A  pint  of  champagne  at  dinner,  with  a  liqueur/ 
afterward,  had  completely  aroused  his  spirit;  and  for 
the  first  time  in  many  years  he  felt  quite  jovial.  He 
went  to  bed  but  couldn't  go  to  sleep,  so  he  rose  and 
awakened  Pinac  and  Fico  out  of  their  slumbers  to  tell 
them  the  good  news,  adding  that  he  intended  to  en 
gage  them  for  his  orchestra.  Poons,  hearing  the 

89 


Jfflusrtc 

sound  of  voices  in  the  room  next  to  his,  came  in,  and 
the  men  sat  talking  over  their  prospects.  Their  hopes, 
their  ambitions  were  about  to  be  realised,  and  they 
talked  and  smoked  the  cigars  Von  Earwig  had 
brought  home  with  him  until  sleep  was  out  of  the 
question;  they  were  too  excited  to  go  to  bed  again. 
Twice  did  Miss  Husted  send  up  to  beg  them  to  make 
less  noise,  as  the  second  floor  front,  Mrs.  Mangen- 
born,  had  complained  that  her  slumbers  were  being 
rudely  disturbed.  So  the  men  dressed  themselves  and 
went  down  into  Von  Earwig's  rooms,  where  they  sat 
till  daylight,  talking  and  smoking;  after  which  they 
all  went  out  to  breakfast  at  Galazatti's. 

As  the  weeks  went  by  and  Von  Earwig  received  no 
word  from  Van  Praag  the  certainty  of  the  engage 
ment  died  out  and  became  merely  a  hope.  Finally 
Von  Earwig  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Van  Praag 
had  forgotten,  and  wrote  to  him  reminding  him  of 
his  promise.  He  received  no  answer  to  his  letter,  and 
^ven  the  hope  of  getting  the  engagement  died  out 
some  few  months  after  its  birth. 


Cfjapter 

'HE  winter  had  now  fairly  set  in  and  it  was  re 
membered  by  New  Yorkers  as  the  hardest  in 
many  years.  Miss  Husted  declared  it  was 
the  coldest  in  her  experience,  for  the  plumber's  pres 
ence  was  constantly  required  to  thaw  out  the  frozen 
pipes.  Certainly  Von  Earwig  remembered  it  because 
he  had  to  wrap  blankets  around  him  to  keep  warm 
while  he  was  copying  music  at  a  few  cents  a  page.  He 
had  other  uses  for  the  money  that  coal  would  cost; 
besides  it  was  very  expensive.  So  he  preferred  to  write 
in  bed  rather  than  spend  money  for  fuel,  until  one  day 
some  sixty  odd  pages  of  music  were  returned  to  him, 
because  they  were  so  badly  written  as  to  be  almost 
illegible.  The  fact  is,  the  old  man's  hands  trembled 
so  with  the  cold  that  he  could  not  hold  his  pen  tightly. 
After  this  loss  he  gave  up  copying  music,  and  so  even 
this  last  meagre  means  of  getting  money  was  denied 
him. 

As  he  walked  up  and  down  his  room,  feeling  intui 
tively  that  it  was  breakfast  time,  he  became  really  an 
gry  with  himself  for  his  repeated  failures.  Lately  he" 
had  been  thinking  of  his  wife  and  child;  but  four* 
teen  years  had  somewhat  benumbed  his  memory. 
When  he  thought  of  the  happiness  of  his  life  with 
them,  it  was  more  as  a  happy  dream  that  he  delighted 
to  ponder  over  than  a  tangible  something  of  which 
he  had  been  robbed.  The  wound  was  there  but  the 
pain  had  ceased. 


JWusfic  JWatfter 

"Are  you  coming  out  to  breakfast?"  said  Pinac's 
voice  outside. 

"Come  on,  Anton,"  shouted  Fico,  "it's  late!" 

"I've  had  my  breakfast,"  said  Von  Earwig,  and  he 
felt  that  he  was  lying  in  a  good  cause.  The  men 
jwould  have  torn  down  the  door  and  carried  him  over 
to  the  restaurant  by  main  force  had  they  guessed  the 
truth.  "Thank  God  it  hasn't  come  to  that,"  he 
thought. 

"He  is  an  early  bird,"  commented  Pinac,  and  he 
went  out  humming  the  latest  music-hall  ditty  which 
he  was  playing  nightly  to  the  patrons  of  the  cafe. 
Poons  went  along;  he  had  no  more  idea  of  his  bene 
factor's  condition  than  the  man  in  the  moon.  The 
three  men  had  not  seen  much  of  him  lately,  for  they 
always  left  him  to  himself  when  he  signified  by  his 
silence  that  he  wanted  to  be  alone.  They  respected 
his  dignity,  his  slightest  suggestion  was  law  to  them; 
they  loved  him,  so  they  left  him  alone. 

"Come  on,  you  wretch,"  said  Von  Earwig  to  his 
violin,  after  the  men  had  gone,  "you  are  the  last  of 
the  Mohicans !"  and,  polishing  it,  he  put  it  in  its  case, 
having  determined  to  sell  it. 

"This  will  be  the  first  meal  with  which  you  have 
provided  me,"  he  said,  shaking  his  fist  at  it,  "so  at 
'last  you  are  going  to  accomplish  something,  you 
cheap  wooden  cigar-box  of  a  fiddle !  I  cannot  play 
you  to  advantage  but  I  can  eat  you.  That's  all  you 
are  good  for — a  few  dinners  and  breakfasts!"  He 
went  out  into  the  street  with  the  violin  under  his 
cloak,  and  from  Houston  Street  he  turned  into  the 

92 


Chapter 

Bowery.  There  was  no  elevated  road  at  that  time 
and  the  thundering,  ear-splitting,  overhead  noises 
heard  nowadays  were  not  yet  in  existence.  Still  it 
was  noisy,  a  perfect  bedlam  of  jabbering  foreigners, 
who  crowded  this  busiest  of  busy  streets  as  they 
crowded  no  other  section  of  this  cosmopolitan  city. 
Von  Earwig,  usually  so  sensitive  to  noises,  apparently 
did  not  notice  this  babel.  Curiously  enough  his 
thoughts  were  miles  away  from  New  York,  and  the 
idea  that  he  was  going  to  sell  his  violin  to  buy  a 
breakfast  was  not  borne  in  upon  him  with  sufficient 
force  to  prevent  his  thinking  of  something  else.  Al 
though  it  was  very  cold  he  did  not  notice  the  weather, 
so  he  did  not  walk  fast.  His  progress  was  a  me 
chanical  movement,  for  in  fancy  he  was  in  Leipsic 
again,  walking  down  the  August  Platz.  It  was  a 
pleasant  day  dream,  one  from  which  Von  Earwig 
did  not  like  to  awaken  himself.  He  pictured  to  him 
self  the  joy,  the  happiness  of  his  loved  ones  when  they 
saw  him,  and  thus  he  felt  the  reflex  of  this  joy. 
These  mental  pictures  were  almost  real  to  him,  and 
he  enjoyed  them  while  they  lasted,  though  he  knew 
that  they  were  not  real. 

"It  is  better  to  dream  than  to  think  of  the  present,'" 
he  said  to  himself.  "What  is  there  going  on  about 
me  but  misery  and  starvation  and  folly?  Why 
should  I  focus  my  mind  on  the  evils  of  existence,  ana 
lyse  them,  make  them  my  bosom  companions  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  joy?  No,  I  will  think  of  those  things 
that  make  for  happiness.  Little  Helene  shall  be  my 
companion.  These  shadows"  (and  he  looked  at  the 

93 


tc  faster 

peoplewho  passed  him) ,  "these  caricatures  of  life  shall 
not  find  a  place  in  my  mind.  I  will  shut  them  out  and 
in  that  way  they  shall  cease  to  exist  for  me;  since 
what  we  do  not  know  cannot  make  us  suffer.'* 

Von  Earwig  walked  down  the  crowded  thorough 
fare,  barely  conscious  that  he  was  dreaming,  yet  in  his 
^dreams  finding  peace.  The  old  man  knew  that  there 
was  a  musical  instrument  shop  somewhere  in  the 
neighbourhood,  but  it  is  quite  possible  that  he  would 
have  passed  it  by  had  not  the  sound  of  a  loud,  roaring 
voice,  accompanied  by  the  banging  of  a  big  drum, 
attracted,  or  rather  demanded  his  attention  and 
aroused  him  from  his  day  dream. 

"Eat  'em  alive,  eat  'em  alive!"  bellowed  the  voice. 
Bang!  bang!  went  the  drum.  "Bosco,  Bosco,  the 
armless  wonder,"  bang!  bang!  "bites  their  heads 
off  and  eats  their  bodies;  eats  'em  alive,  eats  'em 
alive!"  Bang!  bang!  "Bosco,  Bosco!"  the  drum 
punctuating  each  phrase,  making  a  hideous,  ear- 
splitting  duet. 

"What   hellish    syncopation!"    thought   poor   Von 
Barwig  mechanically,  as  he  looked  at  the  individual 
from  whom  issued  the  voice  that  sounded  so  like  the 
^bellowing  of  a  bull. 

'  The  owner  of  this  extraordinary  vocal  organ 
was  a  big,  fat,  florid- faced  individual  with  a  dark, 
bluish-red  complexion.  He  wore  a  flaring  diamond 
ring  around  a  glaring  red  necktie ;  and  a  loud  checked 
suit  that  matched  his  voice  perfectly.  In  fact,  his 
whole  make-up  harmonised  remarkably  with  the  un 
earthly  noise  that  issued  from  his  throat.  He  was 

94 


Chapter 

standing  before  a  flashy-fronted  building,  on  which 
was  painted  in  large  yellow  letters,  intended  to  be 
gold,  the  legend  "Dime  Museum."  In  the  front 
entrance  were  several  cheap  wax  figures  of  a  theatri 
cal  nature,  and  some  still  cheaper  scenes,  showing  the, 
figure  of  a  nude  savage  without  arms,  biting  the  head 
off  a  huge  fish  and  eating  it  alive  apparently.  On  the 
canvas  were  also  painted  pictures  of  a  wild  man  from 
Borneo,  a  tattooed  man,  a  skeleton,  numerous  fat 
ladies,  mermaids,  sylphs,  and  fauns;  the  whole  form 
ing  a  group  of  pictures  and  figures  calculated  to  ar 
rest  the  attention  of  the  passers-by  and  attract  them 
into  the  "theatretorium,"  as  he  of  the  loud  voice 
called  it. 

It  was  not  the  paintings  that  caught  Von  Earwig's 
attention;  it  was  the  voice  that  offended  his  sensi 
tive  ear.  He  looked  at  the  man  in  astonishment; 
never  in  his  life  had  he  heard  such  an  utter  lack  of 
music  in  a  human  voice,  such  volume  of  tone,  such  a 
surplusage  of  quantity  and  an  absence  of  quality. 
Earwig  was  fascinated  and  wondered  how  it  could 
be  possible.  At  this  moment  he  caught  the  man's  eye, 
and  then  a  strange  thing  happened.  The  man  stopped 
roaring,  and,  looking  over  at  Von  Earwig,  in  a  more 
natural  tone  called  out: 

"Say,  professor,  I  want  to  see  you." 

"Are  you  speaking  to  me?"  said  Von  Baiwig;  his 
voice  faltering. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  showman,  "that's  just  what  I 
am."  Coming  over  to  Von  Earwig  he  took  him  by 
the  arm  and  led  him  almost  by  force  into  the  entrance 

95 


of  the  Museum.  "Say,  professor,"  he  asked,  "how 
would  you  like  a  job?" 

UA  job?"  Von  Earwig  repeated  helplessly,  trying 
to  realise  the  meaning  of  the  man's  words. 

UA  job;  yes,  to  be  sure.  Can  you  thump  the 
ivories?" 

"Thump  the  ivories?"  Von  Earwig  looked  so  mys 
tified  that  the  man  volunteered  an  explanation. 

"Play  the  pianner,"  and  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word  he  perforated  the  air  with  ten  large  fingers. 

"I  play — yes.     I — I  play  a  little — not  well " 

"Well,  do  you  want  the  job?  We've  got  a  day 
professor,  but  we  need  a  night  professor.  Day  pro 
fessor  plays  from  eight  till  eight;  night  professor 
from  eight  till  two  or  three.  Depends  on  the  crowds. 
Come  on,  now ;  I  like  your  looks.  Say  the  word  and 
the  job  is  yours." 

It  was  not  pride  that  made  Von  Earwig  silent  when 
he  wanted  to  speak ;  he  simply  did  not  grasp  the  man's 
meaning. 

"I  see  you've  got  your  fiddle  there.  You  can 
play  the  incidental  music  for  the  dramas  with 
that;  and  you  can  play  the  pianner  for  the  curios 
and  the  intermissions.  Dollar  a  night;  what  do 
you  say?" 

"A  dollar  a  night!"  Von  Earwig  at  last  caught 
the  man's  meaning.  He  wanted  him  to  play  for  that 
amount,  at  night,  and  it  would  not  interfere  with 
his  teaching  in  the  daytime. 

"I  only  play  a  very  little,  just  enough  to  show  my 
pupils,"  he  said  deprecatingly. 

' 


Chapter 

"Oh,  you're  all  right!  You  can  read  music,  can't 
you?" 

Von  Earwig  smiled.     "Yes,"  he  replied  simply* 

"Well,  you'll  get  on  to  it." 

But  Von  Earwig  still  held  back. 
|  " What's  the  matter,  ain't  it  enough?" 

Von  Earwig  was  silent. 

"Damn  it  all,"  the  showman  blurted  out.  "I'll  risk 
it;  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  night.  Your  long  hair  is 
worth  that;  you  look  the  goods.  I'll  make  a  special 
feature  of  you — a  real  professor.  Come  on  inside 
and  take  a  look  at  the  place.  A  dollar  and  a  half 
a  night,  eight  till  three;  is  it  a  bargain?" 

Von  Earwig  paused,  then  drew  a  long  deep  breath 
and  nodded  affirmatively. 

"You'll  be  fine — fine,"  said  he  of  the  big  voice.  "I 
can  see  it  in  your  eye;  you  ain't  one  of  them  smart 
felleys." 

He  grabbed  the  hand  of  his  new  attraction  and 
shook  it  heartily.  "Say,  George,"  he  roarecL  "come 
here !  This  is  the  new  night  professor." 

George,  the  young  man  who  was  beating  the  drum, 
ceased  that  occupation  and  came  over  to  the  show 
man  and  Von  Earwig. 

"What's  your  name?"  the  showman  suddenly  asked 
'Von  Earwig. 

"Anton  Von  Earwig,"  came  the  reply  in  a  low  tone. 

"Well,  Anton,  my  name  is  Costello,  Al  Costello." 
Then  with  dignity,  "Professor  Anton,  shake  hands 
with  George  Pike — he's  my  assistant.  This  is  the 
new  night  professor,  George." 

97 


c  faster 

"Happy  to  meet  you,  professor,"  said  that  individ 
ual,  grasping  Von  Earwig's  hand  and  shaking  it  ef 
fusively.  This  hand-shaking  process  seemed  a  part 
of  the  theatrical  trade. 

"Say,  George,  take  him  inside  and  introduce  him  to/ 
the  curios  and  just  tell  'em  from  me  that  if  they  don't.1 
treat  him  better  than  they  did  the  other  night  profes 
sor,  by  the  eternal  jumpin'  Jerusalem,  I'll  fire  the 
whole  bunch !"  With  that  Mr.  Costello  slapped  Von 
Earwig  on  the  back,  and  resumed  his  occupation  of 
attracting  public  attention. 

As  George  and  Von  Earwig  passed  the  turnstile  and 
went  up  the  passage  that  led  into  the  main  hall,  the 
huge  voice  outside  continued  to  roar. 

"Bosco,  Bosco,  the  armless  wonder!  Bites  their 
heads  off  and  eats  their  bodies;  eats  them  alive,  eats 
them  alive !"  And  so  Anton  Von  Earwig  became  the 
night  professor  in  a  dime  museum  on  the  Bowery. 

It  astonished  even  Von  Barwig  himself,  when  he 
found  how  easily  he  adapted  himself  to  his  new  posi 
tion.  In  a  very  short  time  he  found  his  occupation  far 
less  irksome  and  tedious  than  he  had  expected.  As 
to  the  disgrace  of  appearing  nightly  in  a  dime 
museum,  Von  Barwig  felt  it  keenly  enough,  but  he;' 
preferred  to  pay  his  way  and  suffer  himself,  ratherjf 
than  to  make  others  suffer  through  his  inability  to 
make  sufficient  money  to  meet  his  expenses.  Not 
a  word  escaped  him  as  to  his  new  engagement,  for  he 
was  determined  not  to  parade  his  shame  before  his 
friends'  eyes  until  it  became  absolutely  necessary  for 
them  to  know. 


Chapter 

His  duties  were  simple  enough  in  their  way;  he 
extemporised  incidental  music  on  the  piano  or  violin 
while  the  curios  were  being  exhibited,  and  during  the 
progress  of  the  little  abbreviated  dramas  that  were 
^played  by  the  troupe  of  actors  in  the  theatre  upstairs. 
It  did  not  add  to  Von  Earwig's  happiness  that  Mr. 
'Costello  always  insisted  upon  calling  the  attention  of 
the  audience  to  the  special  music  as  played  by  "Pro 
fessor  An-tone  of  Germany,  Europe/'  and  would  point 
at  him  and  start  clapping  until  the  audience  gave  him 
the  round  of  applause  that  he  felt  the  professor  was 
entitled  to.  To  Von  Earwig's  astonishment  and  em 
barrassment,  Costello  took  a  violent  fancy  to  him,  and 
would  talk  to  him  whenever  a  chance  offered 
itself. 

"Professor,"  he  wouM  say,  "you're  different  from 
the  gang  that  hangs  around  here.  I  like  to  talk  to 
you;  it  does  me  good.  You  don't  never  try  to  give 
me  no  songs  and  dances  about  how  much  more  you're 
worth  than  I'm  paying  you,  and  how  much  more  you 
know  than  the  day  professor.  You  ain't  forever 
talkin'  about  yourself." 

Von  Earwig  accepted  this  praise  philosophically. 
He  didn't  in  the  least  understand  it,  but  he  felt 
(that  Mr.  Costello  intended  to  be  complimentary. 
'He  was  grateful  to  him,  too,  for  the  man  had  raised 
his  salary  to  two  dollars  a  night  without  being  asked, 
and  on  several  occasions  had  let  him  go  home  early. 
Besides  that,  he  treated  Von  Earwig  with  far  more 
consideration  and  respect  than  he  did  any  one  else, 
even  his  own  wife.  The  latter  liked  the  professor 

99 


and  told  her  husband  she  was  sure  he  had  seen  better 
days. 

This  deference  made  things  much  easier  for  the 
night  professor,  who  otherwise  would  have  suffered 
many  an  indignity.  Indeed  the  position  seemed  to 
call  for  special  insult  from  any  one  who  chose  to^' 
bestow  it.  He  heard  the  day  professor  roundly 
abused  on  several  occasions  because  he  did  not  play 
to  suit  the  performers.  Not  only  insults,  but 
cushions  were  flung  at  him,  and  Von  Earwig  deter 
mined  if  ever  this  happened  to  him  he  would  leave 
at  once.  He  was  willing  to  sacrifice  his  dignity  and 
his  pride,  but  not  his  self-respect.  Thanks  to  Mr. 
Costello  nothing  happened  to  mar  the  harmony  of  his 
existence  there.  The  curios  were  very  fond  of  Von 
Earwig,  and  he  took  quite  an  interest  in  them.  Poor, 
crippled  human  beings,  the  sadness  of  their  existence 
aroused  his  sympathy;  their  very  affliction  earning  a 
livelihood  for  them.  Was  life  not  a  living  hell  for 
them? 

He  found  on  closer  intimacy  with  them  that  it 
was  not,  for  they  enjoyed  life  after  their  own  manner 
and  were  capable  of  real  affection.  The  midgets  al 
ways  shook  hands  with  him  every  evening  when  he 
came  to  play.  They  were  a  loving  little  pair,  brothers 
and  sister,  and  they  grew  quite  fond  of  him.  Von 
Earwig,  for  his  part,  used  to  look  upon  them  as  chil 
dren,  although  they  were  both  well  past  forty  years  of 
age.  Once  he  saluted  the  "little  girl,"  as  he  called 
her,  with  a  kiss,  and  he  was  quite  astonished  when 
she  blushed.  Her  brother  clapped  his  hands  and 

100 


CfjapUr 

enjoyed  what  he  called  the  fun.  But  it  was  the  un 
toward  affection  of  the  fat  lady  that  nearly  brought 
about  a  catastrophe,  for  her  constant  smile  at  the  pro 
fessor  aroused  the  jealousy  of  the  living  skeleton  and 
.brought  about  an  ultimatum  from  that  gentleman  in 
the  shape  of  a  challenge  to  fight  a  duel  to  the  death. 

The  fat  lady  was  an  agreeable  individual.  She 
seemed  to  have  one  occupation  only,  that  of  sitting 
in  a  rocking  chair  and  rocking  and  fanning  herself 
by  the  hour.  The  skeleton  was  quite  sure  that  the 
professor  was  trying  to  win  her  affections,  but  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  Von  Earwig  was  so  fascinated  by  her 
constant  rocking  and  fanning  that  he  simply  could  not 
help  looking  at  her,  and  she  evidently  could  not  help 
smiling.  As  he  explained  to  the  skeleton,  her  tempo 
was  against  the  beat,  or  in  other  words,  the  rhythm 
of  her  rocking  and  fanning  conflicted  with  the  rhythm 
of  the  music  he  was  playing.  The  skeleton  did  not 
altogether  understand  Von  Earwig's  explanation,  but 
he  accepted  it  willingly,  for  it  was  clear  that  the  pro 
fessor  had  withdrawn  from  the  candidacy  for  the  fat 
lady's  affections ! 

It  must  by  no  means  be  understood,  however, 
.that  Von  Earwig  liked  his  new  occupation.  On 
the  contrary,  it  grieved  his  very  soul;  but  it  was  far 
less  painful  than  he  had  anticipated.  Mr.  Costello 
seemed  to  realise  that  his  night  professor  was  not 
in  his  element  and  he  made  it  as  easy  for  him  as 
possible.  The  weary  months  went  on,  and  Von  Bar- 
wig  by  teaching  during  the  day  and  working  at  night 
just  barely  made  ends  meet. 

101 


"I  am  getting  thinner  and  thinner,"  thought  he  as 
a  ring  slipped  from  his  finger  and  rolled  under  the  old 
sofa  which  had  been  in  his  room  for  a  long  time.  In 
looking  for  it  he  came  across  an  old  portmanteau 
which  had  been  slipped  under  the  sofa  and  had  entire 
ly  escaped  his  memory  during  his  residence  in  Miss 
Husted's  house.  He  opened  it  and  his  heart  beat 
rapidly  as  he  saw  the  case  of  pistols  he  had  brought 
from  Leipsic  intending  to  force  Ahlmann  to  fight  a 
duel.  He  looked  at  them — there  they  lay,  old-fash 
ioned,  duelling  pistols — weapons  for  the  shedding  of 
blood.  He  had  found  no  use  for  them  in  all  these 
years  and  now  he  would  not  use  them  if  he  could,  so 
he  gently  laid  them  down  on  the  piano  and  looked 
further  into  the  portmanteau. 

Within  its  depths,  among  many  relics  of  the  past 
he  found  one  or  two  of  his  compositions,  pieces  for 
the  piano.  He  lifted  them  up  and  underneath  lay 
the  symphony  played  by  his  orchestra  the  night 
she  left  him — the  symphony  that  had  never  been 
heard  in  its  entirety.  He  let  the  lid  of  the  port 
manteau  fall.  The  dust  flew  up  in  his  face,  but  he  did 
not  notice  it,  for  memories  of  that  fatal  night  came 
thronging  into  his  brain  and  he  could  think  of  noth 
ing  but  that  never-to-be-forgotten  scene.  A  great 
longing  to  hear  that  music  again  came  upon  him,  a 
longing  he  could  not  resist.  It  was  dusk  and  the  gas 
lamps  were  being  lit  when  he  sat  down  at  the  piano. 
How  long  he  played  he  never  knew,  for  when  they 
found  him  several  hours  later,  it  was  quite  dark  and 
the  old  man  was  completely  unconscious ;  his  head  had 

102 


Cfjapter  3Cen 

fallen  on  his  arm  which  rested  on  the  keyboard  of  the 

piano. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Mr.  Costello  was  quite  disturbed  at  the  absence  of 
"Professor  Antone  of  Germany"  that  night,  and 
when,  the  next  night,  Von  Earwig  walked  into  the 
Museum,  his  violin  under  his  arm  as  usual,  he  was 
greeted  quite  effusively. 

"Well,  well,  well,  profess1 !  So  you  didn't  give  us 
the  shake  after  all!  Say,  George,  he's  come  back!" 
bawled  Costello  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  Von  Earwig  simply,  "I've  come  back." 

The  midgets  laughed,  the  skeleton  scowled,  the  fat 
lady  smiled;  and  the  old  man  took  out  his  violin  and 
prepared  to  go  to  work. 


Cfjapter  €lefaen 

'iss  HUSTED  was  a  woman  of  few  ideas,  but 
once  an  idea  obtained  lodgment  in  her  brain 
it  was  by  no  means  an  easy  matter  for  her  to 
rid  herself  of  it.  She  pondered  over  it  and  thought 
it  out  until  it  became  too  big  for  one  person  to 
hold.  Then,  under  the  ban  of  secrecy,  she  con 
fided  it  to  another,  and  another,  and  another,  until 
it  became  everybody's  secret.  She  went  through 
this  process  in  regard  to  her  aversion  to  young 
Poons,  whom  she  suspected  in  one  way  or  an 
other  of  being  a  burden  to  "the  dear  professor."  In 
addition  she  had  a  haunting  dread  that  Mr.  Poons 
was  in  love  with  her  niece.  Jenny  was  now  nearly 
nineteen  years  of  age,  and  although  she  looked  barely 
sixteen,  she  had  developed  into  a  remarkably  good- 
looking  young  woman,  a  fact  which  young  Poons  had 
evidently  noticed. 

Miss  Husted  trembled  with  dismay  when  she  saw 
Poons  look  at  Jenny.  She  was  very  grateful  that 
he  couldn't  speak  to  her  in  English,  and  still  more 
grateful  that  Jenny  couldn't  understand  German. 
Mrs.  Mangenborn,  aided  and  abetted  by  the  cards,' 
had  predicted  a  most  advantageous  marriage  for  her 
niece;  indeed  the  cards  had  pointed  to  either  a  title 
or  a  million,  or  both,  and  Miss  Husted  dreaded  lest 
any  premature,  ill-considered  love  match  should  in 
terfere  with  this  happy  prediction.  She  declared 

104 


Chapter  Cleben 

vehemently  that  Jenny  was  too  young  "even  to  look 


at  a  man." 


Now  Jenny  had  no  idea  that  she  liked  young  Poons. 
She  was  interested  in  him  because  she  was  sorry  for 
him,  and  she  was  sorry  for  him  because  her  aunt  was 
always  speaking  against  him.  So  Miss  Husted 
brought  about  the  very  condition  she  most  dreaded, 
for  her  niece  began  to  like  the  young  man  from  the 
moment  her  aunt  forbade  her  to  speak  to  him.  This 
secret  was  originally  Miss  Husted's,  but  after  she 
had  begged  Pinac  to  tell  Poons  not  to  behave  like  a 
moon-calf,  had  asked  Fico  to  prevent  the  young  Ger 
man  from  sighing  audibly  whenever  he  saw  Jenny, 
and  had  finally  told  Von  Earwig  she  wouldn't  keep 
Poons  in  the  house  at  any  price,  everybody  in  the 
house  began  to  suspect  something.  This  suspicion 
ripened  into  certainty,  and  with  the  solitary  exception 
of  Miss  Husted  everybody  sympathised  with  the 
young  pair  and  aided  and  abetted  them  in  their  love- 
making. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  awful  secret  that  was 
troubling  Miss  Husted's  innermost  soul.  For  some 
time  she  had  been  troubled  and  depressed,  for  she  had 
found  several  pawn  tickets  in  Von  Earwig's  room. 
She  had  also  missed  several  ornaments,  pictures  and' 
even  garments  that  had  formerly  been  conspicuous 
possessions.  His  fur-lined  coat  was  gone;  and  the 
cuckoo  clock,  what  had  become  of  it?  When  she 
saw  the  pawn  tickets  she  knew,  and  the  knowledge 
troubled  her,  for  she  realised  how  very  badly  the  pro 
fessor  must  need  money  to  pledge  articles  of  such 


small  value.  She  pondered  over  her  discovery  until 
it  became  too  big  for  her  to  bear  alone,  so  she  con 
fided  it  first  to  Skippy,  the  little  black  and  tan  terrier 
that  the  professor  had  given  her  as  a  Christmas  gift, 
and  then  not  getting  much  response  from  that  quar 
ter  she  told  her  secret  to  Mrs.  Mangenborn.  She 
had  suspected  all  along  that  poor,  dear  Professor  Bar- 
wig  was  not  doing  well,  but  she  never  dreamed  it  had 
come  to  this.  Tears  came  into  the  good  woman's 
eyes  as  she  showed  Mrs.  Mangenborn  the  pawn 
tickets  and  tearfully  asked  her  what  she  could  do. 
Mrs.  Mangenborn,  being  a  practical  person,  sug 
gested  reducing  his  rent  and  Miss  Husted  made  up 
her  mind  to  do  this  forthwith. 

She  could  hear  the  strains  of  music  coming  from  his 
room,  so  she  picked  up  the  little  dog,  which  was  now 
her  constant  companion,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
Receiving  no  reply  she  opened  it  and  walked  in.  The 
three  men  who  were  playing  stopped ;  Jenny,  who  was 
there  also,  looked  very  guilty,  and  began  dusting  the 
furniture.  Pinac  was  playing  his  violin,  Poons  the 
'cello  and  Fico  was  at  the  piano,  with  Jenny  appar 
ently  as  the  audience. 

"Isn't  Professor  Earwig  here?"  inquired  Miss 
Husted,  surprised  at  his  room  being  occupied  during 
his  absence. 

"No,  Miss  Owstong,"  said  Pinac,  always  the 
spokesman  of  the  trio.  He  spoke  English  slightly 
better  than  Fico,  who  could  barely  make  himself  un 
derstood.  There  was  an  awkward  pause.  "He  lets 
us  come  down  here  to  play.  We  practise  to  go  into 

1 06 


Cfjapter  Ciefcen 

the  Union.  We  use  his  piano ;  he  is  very  kind,"  Pinac 
explained. 

At  this  point  the  unfortunate  Poons  dropped  his 
bow  and  in  picking  it  up,  knocked  his  music  stand 
over.  When  Miss  Husted  glared  at  him,  Poons 
grinned  guiltily,  and  stole  a  glance  in  the  direction 
of  Jenny.  Miss  Husted  followed  this  glance  with' 
her  eye  and  rather  testily  suggested  to  her  niece 
that  the  bell  was  ringing  and  there  was  no  one  to 
answer  it.  Jenny,  who  was  glad  to  get  out  alivey 
hurriedly  made  her  escape.  Poons,  sighing  deeply, 
went  into  the  alcove  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 
Miss  Husted  sat  down,  looked  around  the  room 
pathetically,  then  followed  Poons's  example  and 
sighed. 

"Gentlemen,''  she  began;  then  hesitated.  After  all 
it  was  the  professor's  secret.  Perhaps  they  knew;  if 
not,  'twas  better  they  should.  The  man  looked  at 
each  other  inquiringly,  and  waited  for  her  to  speak. 

"I'm  very  glad  I've  found  you  together — very  glad. 
Do  you  notice  any  change  in  me?" 

Pinac  and  Fico  shook  their  heads,  mainly  because 
they  were  mystified. 

"I  haven't  been  sociable  lately;  not  at  all  like  my 
self,"  went  on  Miss  Husted,  "I'm  so  upset." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Fico,  who  didn't  know  what 
else  to  say. 

"Sure,"  nodded  Pinac,  who  felt  he  had  to  add  his 
share  to  the  conversation;  then  they  picked  up  their 
music  and  started  to  leave  the  room,  but  Miss  Husted 
held  up  her  hand  and  signified  that  she  wanted 

107 


them  to  remain.  When  they  came  back  to  her  she 
looked  around  the  room  pathetically  once  more,  and 
began  plaintively: 

"I  said  to  myself,  :These  foreign  gentlemen  will  miss 
your  cheery  word  in  the  hall  and  on  the  stairs.'  ' 

The  men  began  to  feel  very  uncomfortable,  for  they 
had  missed  nothing.  Pinac  thought  she  referred  in 
some  way  to  Poons,  and  tried  to  catch  his  eye  and 
motion  to  him  to  get  out  of  the  room,  but  that  love 
lorn  youth  was  mooning  out  of  the  window,  so  Pinac 
nodded  sympathetically  at  Miss  Husted  and  said, 
"Oui,  oui.  Yes,  oh,  yes!" 

Fico  looked  very  grave  and  muttered:  "Too  bad; 
too  bad!" 

Again  Miss  Husted  looked  around  the  room  very 
mysteriously  and  motioned  to  the  men  to  come 
closer.  They  obeyed,  somewhat  apprehensively  this 
time. 

"What  did  it  all  mean?"  they  thought.  "Why  this 
mystery?" 

"I've  something  to  tell  you  in  confidence,"  she  said 
finally.  She  tried  to  open  her  reticule  and  finding 
Skippy  in  the  way,  she  handed  the  little  animal  to 
Fico,  saying: 

"Will  one  of  you  gentlemen  please  hold  Skippy 
while  I  find  those  tickets?  He  just  had  a  bath  and 
if  he  rolls  over  he'll  get  soiled." 

Fico  took  the  dog,  which  promptly  yelped,  so  he  hur 
riedly  handed  it  to  Pinac.  Pinac,  who  was  afraid  of 
dogs,  transferred  the  animal  to  Poons.  Poons, 
anxious  to  be  of  some  service  to  Miss  Husted,  tried 

1 08 


Chapter  Cleben 

to  pet  the  dog,  but  looking  at  Miss  Husted  for  ap 
proval  instead  of  watching  the  beast,  he  held  it  so 
,  awkwardly  that  its  head  hung  down  and  its  tail  stuck 
up  in  the  air.  Miss  Husted,  in  the  act  of  pulling 
pawn  tickets  out  of  her  reticule,  caught  sight  of  the 
unfortunate  animal  suspended  in  mid  air,  and  jumped 
up  quickly. 

"Look  at  him !  Look  how  the  stupid,  stupid  fellow 
is  holding  Skippy!  All  the  blood  will  rush  into  his 
poor  little  head.  The  dog,  the  dog;  you  foolish  fel 
low;  the  d-o-g,  dog!  I  can't  make  him  understand. 
Please  tell  him,  Mr.  Pinac." 

"Hund — hund!"  shouted  Fico  to  Poons. 

"Le  chien — Le  chien !    Idiot,  stupid  1"  said  Pinac. 

Poons  was  so  startled  by  hearing  them  all  shout  at 
him  at  once  that  he  dropped  the  dog  into  Von 
Earwig's  coal  scuttle,  whence  it  finally  issued  cov 
ered  with  coal  dust  and  ran  yelping  into  Miss 
Husted's  arms.  That  lady  petted  the  frightened 
animal  while  Pinac  pushed  the  unfortunate  Poons  out 
of  the  room. 

When  Miss  Husted  had  completely  recovered  her 
self,  she  held  up  the  pawn  tickets. 

"I  found  them,"  she  said  dolefully,  "under  that  pile . 
of  music" 

"Gritt  Scott!"  said  Pinac.  He  knew  at  a  glance 
what  they  were;  experience  had  taught  him. 

"Are  they  of  Von  Earwig?"  he  inquired. 

Fico  took  three  or  four  of  the  tickets.  "From 
Anton;  yes,"  and  then  he  sighed  and  shook  his 
head. 

109 


it  pastier 

The  men  knew  Von  Earwig  was  poor,  but  they  had 
no  idea  to  what  extent  his  poverty  had  reached. 

"His  cuckoo  clock:  nine  dollars!"  read  Fico. 

"That  was  the  first  thing  I  missed — that  cuckoo, 
.evenings,"  sighed  Miss  Husted. 

"Mozart,  gone!"  almost  shouted  Pinac,  pointing  to 
-the  spot  on  the  wall  where  that  musician's  portrait 
had  once  reposed.  "And  Beethoven !  And  where  is 
Gluck?"  Then  looking  around:  "Nom  de  Dieu! 
even  his  metronome  have  gone — his  metronome  1 
Dieu,  Dieu!" 

"I  should  say  it  was  dear,  dear!"  said  Miss  Husted, 
who  slightly  misunderstood  Pinac. 

And  so  the  truth  dawned  upon  them.  For  months, 
for  years  he  had  deceived  them  with  his  smile,  his 
optimism,  his  gay  manner  and  cheery  word,  and  above 
all  by  the  open-hearted  manner  in  which  he  gave 
away  to  all  who  came  to  him. 

"All  these  years  has  Professor  Von  Earwig  been  in 
my  house  and  he  has  paid  me  like  a  gentleman.  He 
pays  me  now,  how  does  he  do  it?  Oh,  dear!"  Miss 
Husted  tried  hard  not  to  cry,  but  the  tears  would 
come.  The  men  looked  on  sadly;  they  had  always 
: accepted  his  bounty,  and  now  they  were  reproaching 
themselves. 

Miss  Husted's  feelings  made  her  reminiscent,  and 
when  she  was  reminiscent  she  invariably  exaggerated 
— in  retrospect  she  saw  everything  as  she  would  have 
liked  it  to  have  been.  "When  he  first  came  here  what 
a  man  he  was !  And  this,  what  a  neighbourhood  then, 
an  elegant  residential  district.  I  had  a  position  then, 

no 


Chapter  Cleben 

I  could  recommend  him;  everybody  knew  Miss  Hous 
ton  of  Houston  Street."  In  spite  of  her  sorrow  she 
felt  proud  of  the  past. 

The  men  looked  at  each  other.    They  had  heard  this 
for  the  past  fifteen  years.    It  meant  a  long  session  and 
they  wanted  to  practise  their  music;  so  Pinac  merely} 
nodded,  and  Fico  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"Why,  I  was  pointed  out  by  everybody  as  Miss 
Houston  of  Houston  Street.  I  was  a  landmark;  a 
sight." 

"Yes,"  said  Pinac  unconsciously.  "You  were;  and 
you  are  still." 

Miss  Husted  looked  at  him  sharply.  "Was  he 
venturing  to  laugh  at  her?"  she  thought.  But  his  sad 
face  belied  any  such  intention. 

"How  things  have  changed?"  went  on  Miss  Husted 
tremulously.  "There's  not  a  child  in  this  neigh 
bourhood  that  can  afford  to  pay  for  his  lesson !  And 
when  they  can't  afford  it,  he  won't  take  the  money  I 
He  gives  away  the  very  bread  out  of  his  mouth." 

Pinac  and  Fico  shifted  uncomfortably. 

"Everything  he  had  of  value  has  gone  long  ago, 
Do  you  remember  that  beautiful  violin?" 

"Ah,  yes !  his  Amati.  Yes,  yes !  He  bought  instead 
a  cheap  one.  I  wondered  why,  but  did  not  ask  him." 

"And  still  he  pays  me.  Where  does  he  get  it?" 
asked  Miss  Husted  tearfully.  "What  is  he  doing 
out  every  night,  nearly  all  night?" 

The  men  looked  at  each  other;  this  was  another  reve 
lation.  They  were  out  at  night  themselves  and  so  did 
not  know  of  his  absence. 

in 


ic  faster 

"There's  something  done  up  to  go  to  pawn  now," 
said  Miss  Husted,  pointing  to  a  box  wrapped  up  in 
a  paper  on  the  piano.  It  was  Von  Earwig's  case 
of  pistols.  Pinac  and  Fico  looked  at  each  other  in 
astonishment. 

"Pistols  for  duel !"  said  Pinac  at  once.  He  had  seen 
/them  in  the  theatre,  long,  thin,  single  barrel  pistols. 

"Sometimes  I  feel  that  he  came  to  this  country  pur 
posely  to  take  vengeance  on  some  one,"  said  Miss 
Husted  mysteriously.  The  men  were  much  im 
pressed,  but  neither  of  them  spoke. 

"I  don't  believe  the  poor  man  has  his  meals  half  the 
time,"  went  on  Miss  Husted,  somewhat  irrelevantly. 
"I  am  almost  sure  he  doesn't." 

"We  ask  him  to  dine  the  evening,"  said  FIco,  with  a 
look  of  triumph,  feeling  that  he  had  not  only  discov 
ered  the  problem  but  had  also  solved  it. 

"Yes,"  assented  Pinac,  "we  ask  him." 

At  this  moment  Poons  came  back  into  the  room,  hav 
ing  forgotten  his  music. 

Miss  Husted  was  so  wrapped  up  in  her  thoughts 
that  she  had  no  time  to  frown  at  him. 

A  door  bang  was  heard,  and  her  sharp  ears  detected 
the  sound.  "There  he  is  now,"  she  said.  "Please 
don't  tell  him  that  I  spoke  of  his  affairs.  You  know 
how  sensitive  he  is." 

A  key  was  heard  in  the  door;  Von  Earwig  evidently 
thought  the  room  was  empty.  As  he  came  in,  fol 
lowed  by  Jenny,  the  sad  expression  on  his  face 
changed. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction;  "when  I 

112 


Cfjapttt  Clefoen 

set  foot  here,  I  am  among  friends.  So  glad,  so  glad ! 
Welcome  to  you  all." 

Miss  Husted,  making  a  few  lame  excuses,  hurried 
out.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  guilty  of  an  indiscre 
tion  in  betraying  the  professor's  secret  to  his  friends. 

Von  Earwig  greeted  his  friends  warmly. 

"Well,  how  is  the  little  hausfrau?"  he  said  as  he 
handed  Jenny  a  flower  that  he  had  brought  for  her. 
"Beauty  is  a  fairy,  eh?  Sometimes  it  hides  in  a 
flower,  sometimes  in  a  fresh  young  face,"  and  he 
pinched  her  cheek  tenderly.  "Here  blooms  a  rose; 
not  picked,  not  picked,  August  1"  Poons  smiled  and 
shook  his  head. 

"He  doesn't  understand  me,"  said  Von  Barwig. 
"The  son  of  my  old  friend  has  been  six  months  in  this 
country,  and  not  a  word  of  English  can  he  speak." 

"Never  mind,  Jenny!  I  find  you  a  splendid  fellow; 
one  who  can  speak  his  own  mind  in  his  own  lan 
guage.  Not  a  selfish  fellow  like  these  bachelors. 
Bah!  a  bachelor  is  not  a  citizen  of  his  country;  he  is 
not  even  civilised.  He  is — a  nondescript — a — a " 

The  men  were  looking  at  him  sadly  as  if  trying  to 
read  his  innermost  thoughts.  They  seemed  to  have 
realised  for  the  first  time  that  his  gaiety  was  forced. 
His  spirits  this  afternoon  were  unusually  high;  and  it 
made  the  reality  stand  out  in  greater  contrast.  Pinac 
felt  that  he  might  resent  any  reference  to  his  financial 
condition,  so  he  did  not  speak  of  it. 

"It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  had  a  nice  little 
dinner  together,"  he  said  in  his  Gallic  way. 

"Yes,"  assented  Von  Barwig,   "a  long  time!" 


"A  dinner  during  which  we  can  exchange  confi 
dences,"  ventured  Fico,  interspersing  his  English  with 
Italian,  and  a  word  or  two  of  slang.  Pinac  gave  Fico 
a  look  of  warning. 

"He  means  a  'art  to  'art  talk,"  explained  Pinac. 

"Excellent,  excellent!"  said  Von  Earwig,  rubbing  his 
hands,  and  going  over  to  the  window  he  pulled  up  the 
blind. 

"He  falls  into  our  trap  very  easily,"  whispered 
Pinac  to  Fico;  "but  be  careful!" 

Poons  looked  on  and  smiled  as  usual. 

"I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  Von  Earwig. 
"You  shall  all  dine  with  me,"  and  before  his  friends 
could  remonstrate  he  had  invited  Poons  to  the  ban 
quet. 

"But  I  asked  you!"  said  Pinac. 

"He  ask  you,"  repeated  Fico. 

"I  ask  you;  we  all  ask  you,"  asserted  Pinac. 

"In  my  apartment!"  demanded  Von  Earwig,  with 
some  slight  show  of  dignity.  "Come,  come!  The 
matter  is  settled.  It  is  good  to  have  old  friends 
at  the  table.  We  won't  go  to  the  restaurant;  it's 
too  noisy  there;  we  shall  dine  here.  Galazatti  will 
send  over  a  dinner  without  extra  charge,  if  we  order 
enough." 

"I  am  not  hungry,"  began  Fico,  but  Von  Earwig 
silenced  him  with  a  look. 

"Then  please  find  your  appetite  at  once,"  he  said. 

They  saw  it  was  useless  to  remonstrate  with  him  and 
for  a  moment  remained  silent,  but  Pinac  determined 
to  make  another  effort. 

114 


Cljajjter  Clefoen 

"You  cannot  afford  such  expense,"  he  began.  "It  is 
too  much." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Von  Earwig,  with  quiet  dignity. 
"I  can  always  afford  to  invite  my  friends  to  dinner. 
I  have  had  lessons  all  day,  ever  since  early  morning. 
Please,  my  dear  Pinac,  and  you,  Fico,  old  friend,  do 
not  refer  to  the  financial  side  of  our  little  festivity. 
It  robs  it  of  the  zest  of  enjoyment,  of  comradeship. 
Let  us  eat  and  drink  and  be  merry !  The  question  is, 
what  shall  we  have  for  dinner,  not  who  shall  pay  for 
it?"  And  then  without  awaiting  a  reply,  he  opened 
the  door  and  called  for  Jenny. 

Pinac  and  Fico  looked  at  each  other.  It  was 
evident  to  them  that  Miss  Husted  had  exaggerated 
Von  Earwig's  poverty,  so  their  spirits  rose  at 
once. 

"Jenny !  We  take  dinner  here.  Get  me  the  menu, 
Poons.  Jenny,  you  will  ask  your  good  aunt,  Miss 
Husted,  to  dine  with  us  en  famille — one  of  our  old- 
time  dinners.  Now,  what  shall  we  have?"  he  said, 
scanning  the  well-thumbed  menu  that  Poons  had 
handed  to  him. 

"It  is  an  old  one,"  suggested  Fico. 
k    "It  is  always  the  same.     It  is  only  the  date  they 
change,"  said  Von  Earwig.     Pinac  looked  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  menu. 

"Chicken  a  la  Marengo"  said  the  Frenchman, 
"with  a  soupqon  of  garlic." 

"No,"  said  Von  Earwig  decidedly,  "Miss  Husted 
doesn't  like  garlic!" 

"A  la  Polenta  is  better,"  suggested  the  Italian. 

11 5 


tlfje 

"Ein  Bischen  Limburger"  put  in  Poons,  which  was 
instantly  frowned  upon  by  all. 

Jenny  was  asked  to  take  down  the  order,  and  the 
process  of  selecting  the  dishes  for  the  dinner  was  gone 
through;  each  ordering  according  to  his  own  taste. 
Jenny  tried  to  write  down  everything  they  wanted, 
but  gave  it  up  after  she  had  filled  three  pages  of  sug 
gestions  and  scratched  them  out  again.  Finally  Von 
Earwig  ordered  a  nice  little  dinner,  including 
spaghetti  and  garlic.  As  Jenny  was  about  to  take 
the  order  to  Galazatti's,  Miss  Husted  made  her  ap 
pearance.  Jenny  told  her  that  the  professor  had  in 
vited  her  to  dinner,  and  she  realised  in  a  moment  what 
had  happened.  It  was  the  old  story;  the  professor 
was  to  be  the  host.  She  suggested  that  she  herself 
get  up  a  little  dinner  for  the  men,  but  Von  Earwig 
wouldn't  hear  of  putting  her  to  the  trouble  and  so  his 
ideas  were  carried  out  as  usual.  It  was  really  a  most 
enjoyable  dinner!  To  this  day  Miss  Husted  speaks 
of  it  as  one  of  those  gala  Bohemian  affairs  that  must 
be  seen  and  heard  and  eaten  to  be  appreciated.  As 
she  afterward  told  her  friend,  Mrs.  Mangenborn, 
they  had  a  hip,  hip  hurray  of  a  time.  The  dear  pro 
fessor  was  just  as  jolly  as  he  could  be.  Even  Poons 
was  tolerable,  although  she  would  not  for  worlds  sit 
next  to  him  at  the  table.  It  was  simply  impossible  for 
her  to  describe  the  dinner  in  detail,  but  how  Fico 
swallowed  the  spaghetti  without  losing  it  down  his 
shirt  front  was  a  mystery.  How  the  man  got  so 
much  on  his  fork  and  swallowed  it  down  by  the  yard 
nobody  knew,  it  was  simply  a  sublime  feat  I  But  the 

116 


Chapter  Cleben 

toasts  they  drank  (with  the  last  of  the  professor's 
claret),  the  songs  they  sang,  the  art  they  discussed! 
Every  word  was  a  scream  of  laughter. 

"Just  listen  to  this,"  said  Miss  Husted,  laughing 
at  the  very  memory  of  the  joke.  "Young  Poons 
asked  what  was  garlic,  and  the  professor  said: 
'Garlic  is  a  vegetable  limburger  !'  The  idea  of  such 
a  thing!"  Even  Mrs.  Mangenborn  consented  to 
smile. 

"And  when  Mr.  Fico  said,  'Wine  is  the  enemy  of 
mankind/  Mr.  Pinac  jumped  up  and  said,  'Is  it? 
Then  give  me  my  enemy,  that  I  may  drink  him  down.' 
Oh,  it  was  a  most  enjoyable  affair.  I  can't  tell  you 
all  that  was  said,"  went  on  Miss  Husted.  "But 
how  the  wit  did  flow!  Wit  and  wine;  no,  wit  and 
water;  there  wasn't  much  wine.  We  didn't  in  the 
least  mind  the  noise  that  the  Donizetti  family  made 
overhead;  though  once  when  the  chandelier  nearly 
came  down  the  professor  did  say  they  ought  to  live 
in  the  cellar!  I  think  I'll  give  them  notice  next 
week,"  she  added  thoughtfully,  "though  God  knows 
I  need  the  money." 

"What  about  the  pawn  tickets?"  asked  Mrs.  Man 
genborn. 

"Not  a  word  was  said  about  them,"  replied  Miss 
Husted.  "I  don't  know  what  to  think!  The  pro 
fessor  was  just — oh,  he  was — well,  we  had  a  great 
time.  There's  something  about  Bohemia  that  ap 
peals  to  my  innermost  nature.  Give  me  a  Bohemian 
dinner  every  time!"  she  said,  when  she  had  spoken 
her  final  word  on  the  subject. 

117 


"He  must  have  money  in  the  bank,"  commented 
Mrs.  Mangenborn. 

Miss  Husted  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  think  so," 
she  said. 

On  the  same  evening  the  collection  agent  for  the  > 
Blickner  Piano  Company  called  on  Professor  Von 
Earwig,  and  presented  him  with  a  "final  notice.'* 

"I  intended  to  pay  you  to-day,"  said  Von  Earwig. 
"I  will  pay  you  next  week.  Won't  you  please  wait? 
I  have  two  lessons  to-morrow." 

"You'll  pay,  or  we'll  take  the  piano  away;  that's 
all!  You're  six  weeks  behind." 

"I  had  the  money  and  I  intended  to  give  it  to  you 
to-day,"  Von  Earwig  pleaded.  "But — some  friends 
came  to  dinner,  and — "  He  paused,  and  then  smiled 
as  it  occurred  to  him  how  thoughtless  he  had  been. 
The  collector  left  the  notice  in  Von  Earwig's  posses 
sion,  and  walked  away  without  further  comment. 


Cfjapter 

FFAIRS  had  not  been  going  along  very  smoothly 
at  the  Museum.  About  this  time,  there  came 
into  existence  a  new  tempo  in  music  that  ap 
pealed  chiefly  to  people  whose  musical  tastes  were  not 
yet  developed,  or  who  had  no  musical  taste  or  ear 
whatsoever.  Now  the  performers  at  Costello's  Mu 
seum,  who  were  called  artists  on  the  playbills,  insisted 
that  the  "Night  Profess'  "  play  their  accompaniments 
to  their  acts  in  this  new  style  of  musical  rhythm — 
ragtime  as  it  was  most  appropriately  called.  But  Von 
Earwig,  being  a  musician,  whose  music  lay  in  his  soul 
and  not  merely  in  his  feet  and  fingers,  could  not  do 
this.  He  worked  hard  to  get  it,  but  could  not,  and 
the  artists  complained  to  the  manager.  As  a  result 
Mr.  Costello  called  upon  Von  Earwig  at  his  lodgings; 
much  to  the  professor's  astonishment  and  dismay. 

"Say,  who  was  that  freak  that  poked  her  head  out  of 
the  door  as  I  came  in?"  said  that  gentleman,  as  soon 
as  he  had  banged  the  door  shut,  and  seated  himself 
comfortably  in  Von  Earwig's  armchair. 

"Freak?  Freak?  we  have  no  freaks  here!  Oh," 
and  a  faint  smile  stole  over  Von  Earwig's  features, 
which  he  tried  hard  to  repress.  "You  mean  perhaps 
MissHusted?" 

"Do  I?"  inquired  Costello,  "well,  p'raps  I  do!  She's 
of  the  vintage  of  1776,  and  looks  like  a  waxwork 

edition  of " 

119 


2Cfje 

"Please,  please!"  remonstrated  Von  Earwig.  "She 
is  a  lady,  a  most  hospitable,  kind-hearted  lady  1  You 
would  like  her  if  you  knew  her,  really " 

"Maybe  so,"  said  Costello,  somewhat  dubiously; 
and  then  he  blurted  out :  "Well,  profess',  I've  come , 
on  a  professional  visit !     I  want  to  put  you  wise  bey 
fore  you  turn  up  to  play  to-night." 

Von  Earwig  looked  pained.  Costello  was  bawling 
at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  he  was  afraid  that  the 
household  would  hear. 

"Hush,  please !  You  speak  so  loud.  As  you  know, 
my  visits  to  the  Museum  are,  in  a  sense,  a  secret.  I 
keep  my  private  and  my  professional  life  apart,  as 
it  were.  Forgive  me,  but  please,  please,  don't  speak 
loudly !  I  do  not  wish  it  known ;  for  they  think  that 
I — they  do  not  know  that  I — have—"  Von  Earwig 
was  about  to  say,  "fallen  so  low,"  but  he  did  not  wish 
to  hurt  the  amiable  Costello's  feelings;  so  he  paused. 
"That's  all  right,  profess',  broke  in  Costello;  "I'm 
having  a  little  trouble  with  my  main  attraction,  Bosco, 
the  armless  wonder.  I  wish  she  was  a  tongueless 
wonder!  She  has  no  arms,  but  my  God,  how  she 
can  talk!  I  left  her  taking  it  out  of  the  day  profes 
sor;  she  was  swearing  a  blue  streak.  Ain't  it  funny 
how  these  stars  kick?"  and  Mr.  Costello  bit  the  end 
off  a  cigar,  viciously  lit  it,  and  puffed  furiously  at  it 
till  the  room  was  clouded  with  smoke.  Von  Earwig 
was  silent.  He  was  waiting  for  Mr.  Costello  to  tell 
him  the  worst,  that  he  could  not  come  again.  His 
heart  began  to  beat;  what  should  he  do  if  he  lost  his 
position  ?. 

120 


Chapter 

"She  says  your  music  is  queering  her  act,"  said  Mr. 
Costello  finally,  "she  says  you  don't  give  it  to  her 
thumpin'  enough;  she  wants  ragtime  or  she  can't 
work." 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  said  the  old  man  simply.  "I 
try  hard  to  please  her;  indeed  I  do  I" 

"I  know  you  do,  I  know  you  do,  profess1 !  But, 
say,  you  can't  do  anything  with  them  guysi  You 
know  I  like  you,  you've  got  such  damned  elegant 
manners — the  gentleman  all  over.  Yes,  sir,  you're 
a  twenty-two  karat  gentleman ;  you're  the  first  profes 
sor  the  freaks  darsent  josh!" 

Von  Earwig  bowed  his  head.  He  was  grateful  to 
Costello;  the  man  had  made  his  hideous  task  almost 
bearable. 

"Now  I  don't  want  to  lose  her  and  I  don't  want  to 
lose  you,"  Costello  went  on,  "but  things  have  got 
to  go  right,  see?  They've  got  to!  You're  one 
of  them  kind  that  can  take  a  tip.  Give  her 
what  sne  wants!  What's  the  difference?  You're  a 
gentleman — she's  a  lady!  She  doesn't  know  any 
better!" 

"I  am  so  sorry,  so  very  sorry  to  trouble — "  faltered 
Von  Earwig. 

"You're  all  right,  profess',"  broke  in  Costello, 
"you  earn  your  money  if  it  is  small  pay;  but  the  job 
goes  against  you,  now  don't  it?"  His  voice  was  al 
most  soft.  "You  ain't  used  to  our  kind,  are  you?" 
The  man's  brusque  kindness  touched  Von  Earwig,  and 
he  choked  up  a  little  as  he  spoke: 

"Well — I — I — I  have  had  higher  thoughts.    Here 

121 


in  Houston  Street  life  is  strange,  and  I  must  take 
what  I  find.  Times  are  a  little  hard,  a  little  hard, 
and  the  parents  of  my  pupils  are  pushed  for  money. 
They  don't  pay,  otherwise,  perhaps  I — "  and  Von 
Earwig  sighed. 

"You  ain't  suited,  that's  what's  the  matter!" 
"Oh  yes;  oh,  yes!  I — "  broke  in  Von  Earwig, 
afraid  that  Costello  might  dispense  with  his  services 
altogether.  "I  acknowledge  the  curios  came  a  little 
on  my  nerves  at  first.  It  was  all  so  strange:  the 
people  staring,  the  midgets  chattering,  the  stout  lady 
fanning,  fanning,  always  fanning,  the  lecturing  of  the 
lecturer;  and  you  at  the  door  always  calling  'Insides, 
insides!'" 

Costello  laughed,  "You  mean  'Insi-i-ide.'  ' 
"Yes,  insides,"  went  on  Von  Earwig,  unconsciously 
making  the  same  mistake.  Then  he  added,  trying  to 
convince  himself,  "Better  times  will  come  soon  and 
then,  perhaps,  we  shall  part,  but  for  the  present  I 
remain,  eh,  yes?" 

Costello  nodded.  "As  long  as  you  like,  profess'; 
as  long  as  you  like !"  and  he  held  out  his  hand  for 
Von  Earwig  to  shake.  As  Von  Earwig  did  so,  he 
said:  "I  shall  always  remember  it  was  your  money 
that  helped  me  to  bridge  over — my — my  difficul 
ties " 

"That's  all  right,  that's  all  right!"  asserted  Costello. 
"You're  worth  the  money  or  you  wouldn't  get  it. 
But  don't  forget,  when  the  lecturer  says,  'Bosco, 
Bosco,  the  armless  wonder!'  play  up  lively,  see? 
and  when  he  says,  'Bites  their  heads  off  and  eats  their 

122 


Chapter 

bodies;  eats  'em  alive,  eats  'em  alive!'  give  it  to  her 
thumpin' !" 

Here  Von  Earwig  drew  a  deep  breath.  He  was 
tired,  tired  unto  his  very  soul  of  the  whole  business ; 
but  he  had  to  go  on. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  pathetic  smile,  "she  shall  eat 
fem  alive  yet  livelier !" 

This  appeared  to  satisfy  Costello,  and  shaking 
hands  with  Von  Earwig  once  more,  he  went  out  and 
kft  him  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Von 
Earwig's  eye  fell  on  a  daguerreotype  of  Mendelssohn, 
and  it  called  him  back  to  Leipsic.  "Eat  'em  alive, 
eat  'em  alive,  eat  'em  alive!"  rang  in  his  ears. 
"Good  God,  to  what  have  I  fallen,  to  what  have  I 
fallen?"  he  cried  to  himself;  then  he  stopped.  "I 
must  have  more  courage.  I  am  a  coward,  I  am  al 
ways  railing  at  fate !  Who  can  tell  what  the  future 
shall  have  in  store  for  me?"  Then  he  thought  of 
the  songs  he  had  found  in  his  old  trunk  with  his  sym 
phony.  He  hastily  opened  the  trunk,  took  them  out 
and  hurried  uptown  for  the  purpose  of  selling  them, 
but  the  symphony  he  did  not  take — he  had  not  the 
courage  to  sell  that. 

It  was  some  years  since  Von  Earwig  had  tried  to 
dispose  of  his  compositions  and  he  made  the  rounds 
of  the  various  music  publishers  with  as  little  success 
as  usual.  "There  is  no  demand  for  my  music,"  he 
thought,  and  he  went  into  a  fashionable  music  em 
porium,  as  a -last  hope. 

The  clerks  at  Schumein's  recognised  him  in  a  mo 
ment;  his  was  a  face  one  could  not  forget.  Mr. 

123 


Schumein,  the  head  of  the  firm,  could  not  see  him; 
he  was  busy. 

"I  will  wait,"  said  Von  Earwig,  and  he  sat  down. 

"I'm  afraid  he'll  be  busy  all  the  afternoon,"  said  the 
clerk  apprehensively. 

"I  can  wait  all  the  afternoon,  if  necessary,"  said 
Von  Earwig.  He  was  tired  and  was  glad  to  sit  down. 

"Suppose  you  leave  your  songs  here  and  I'll  hand 
them  to  our  reader,"  suggested  the  clerk,  after  Von 
Earwig  had  been  waiting  over  two  hours. 

"They  won't  see  me,"  thought  Von  Earwig,  "I  can 
no  longer  obtain  an  interview.  I  am  not  worth  see 
ing,"  and  he  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the 
days  when  people  used  to  wait  for  hours  to  see  him. 
"Well,"  he  spoke  aloud,  "I  will  leave  them;  and  to 
morrow  I  will  call  for  the  answer." 

"Better  leave  it  till  next  week;  our  reader  is  very 
busy,"  said  the  clerk,  a  little  impatiently. 

"I  will  call  again  next  week,"  said  Von  Earwig  pa 
tiently. 

"What's  your  address?"  asked  the  clerk. 

Von  Earwig  told  him  and  he  wrote  it  on  the  back 
of  the  manuscript.  "All  right,  I'll  attend  to  it,"  and 
the  young  man  threw  the  songs  carelessly  into  a 
^drawer  in  his  desk.  Von  Earwig  thanked  him,  bowed 
.politely,  and  walked  slowly  out. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  a  young  lady  who  had  just 
arrived  in  a  fashionable  carriage  and  pair.  She  had 
been  watching  Von  Earwig  for  the  past  few  mo 
ments  and  was  struck  by  the  sweet,  gentle  sadness  of 
his  face. 

124 


I 

Cfjapter 

"He's  a  sort  of  a  composer,  miss ;  that  is,  he  writes 
songs  and  things.  He's  a  music  master,  I  fancy,  in 
one  of  the  poorer  quarters  of  the  city,"  said  the  clerk, 
taking  out  the  manuscript  he  had  just  thrown  into 
a  drawer. 

"Yes,"  he  added,  as  she  saw  the  address,  "he  has  a, 
studio  at  970  Houston  Street.  Rather  far  down 
town,"  he  added. 

"Nine  hundred  and  seventy  Houston  Street,"  re 
peated  the  girl;  "that  must  be  near  our  settlement 
headquarters."  She  made  some  purchases,  and  a  few 
moments  later  the  footman  opened  the  door,  and  she 
was  whisked  rapidly  away  by  a  pair  of  fine  blooded 
horses. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  a  fellow-clerk. 

"Why  don't  you  know?"  asked  the  other  with  a 
slight  tinge  of  superiority.  "It's  Miss  Stanton,  the 
heiress." 

"Is  that  so  ?    She's  a  beauty !" 

"Yes,"  went  on  his  informant,  "her  father  is  only 
worth  about  twenty-five  millions!" 

The  other  clerk  whistled. 

During  Von  Earwig's  absence  from  his  room  that 
morning,  young  Poons  had  taken  possession  of  it  for 
the  purpose  of  practising  on  his  'cello,  but  this  was 
not  his  only  reason.  Jenny  invariably  made  it  a 
point  to  straighten  out  Von  Earwig's  room  at  just 
about  the  time  that  Poons  happened  to  arrive.  There 
he  could  look  at  her  and  speak  to  her  in  little  broken 
bits  of  the  English  language,  without  fear  of  being 

12$ 


interrupted  by  Miss  Husted.  Jenny's  knowledge  of 
German  was  as  hopelessly  nil  as  his  ideas  of  English; 
so  they  made  up  their  minds  to  study  "each  other's 
language  from  each  other."  To  help  matters  along, 
they  bought  two  English-German  "Conversation 
Made  Easy"  books,  and  in  the  security  of  Von  Bar- 
wig's  studio  they  exchanged  cut  and  dried  sentences 
by  the  page,  neither  understanding  what  the  other 
said.  On  this  particular  morning  young  Poons,  with 
the  assistance  of  Fico,  had  written  out  an  English  sen 
tence,  which  he  had  recited  to  himself  dozens  of  times 
that  morning,  for  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  declare 
himself. 

The  opportunity  came  quickly.  Poons  had  scarcely 
been  practising  three  minutes  before  the  door  opened, 
and  in  walked  Jenny  with  Mr.  Earwig's  table-cloth. 

"Ach,  Fraulein  Chenny!"  said  Poons,  blushing. 

"Mr.  Poons,"  gasped  Jenny,  in  complete  astonish 
ment,  although  she  must  have  heard  him  playing  as 
she  came  through  the  hall. 

"Ach,  Fraulein  Chenny,"  he  repeated,  trying  to  re 
member  his  declaration,  but  by  this  time  the  English 
sentence  he  had  learned  by  heart  had  completely  left 
,him. 

"I  could  not  speak  to  you  for  two  days  because 
auntie,  that  is,  Miss  Husted,  was  watching,"  said 
Jenny,  laying  the  cloth.  Poons  nodded  and  smiled. 
"She  was  watching,"  said  Jenny,  but  he  made  no 
sign.  "Verstay?  Verstay?"  she  repeated,  making 
her  little  stock  of  German  go  as  far  as  she  could. 

"Nein!  Ich — "  said  Poons  hopelessly.  He  was 

126 


Chapter 

hunting  for  the  piece  of  paper  with  his  declaration  of 
love  on  it,  and  was  having  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
finding  it.  Where  was  it?  He  knew  it  was  in  one 
of  his  pockets;  but  which  one?  He  looked  very  awk 
ward  and  embarrassed. 

"Have  you  your  lessons  learned  ?"  asked  Jenny,  tak 
ing  out  her  English-German  "Conversation  Made 
Easy"  book,  and  hoping  to  help  him  out  by  starting 
on  a  topic. 

"Nein,"  replied  Poons,  who  knew  what  she  meant 
when  he  saw  the  book.  Then  he  added  in  German 
that  he  had  been  so  thoroughly  occupied  in  practis 
ing  that  he  had  no  time,  but  that  he  had  some 
thing  of  great  importance  that  he  wanted  to  say 
to  her. 

Jenny  almost  shook  her  head  off  trying  to  make  it 
clear  that  she  didn't  understand  a  word  he  said. 

"Fraulein  Chenny,"  he  began  again,  but  gave  it  up. 
He  opened  the  lesson  book  and  read  in  English,  with 
a  strong  German  accent,  "Heff  you  die — hett  of — die 
poy — found?"  Then  he  looked  at  her  ardently,  as 
if  he  had  just  uttered  the  most  delicate  sentiment. 
Jenny  smiled,  and  read  what  she  considered  to  be  an 
appropriate  answer. 

"Nein,  ich  hab  die  slissell  meine  —  Gross- 
mutter " 

She  looked  at  him  for  approval. 

"Schliissel,"  corrected  Poons. 

"Slissell,"  repeated  Jenny. 

"Schliiss- " 

"Sliss " 

127 


faster 

Poons  gave  up  trying  and  went  back  to  his  book, 
reading  the  following  with  deep-bated  breath  and  lov 
ing  emphasis. 

"Vich — iiss — to  der  hotel — die — vay?" 

Jenny's  reply  came  with  business-like  rapiditya 

uDer  pantoffle  ist  in  die  zimmer " 

"Puntoffel,"  corrected  Poons. 

"Pantoffle,"  responded  his  pupil. 

"Tsimmer,"  said  he. 

"Zimmer,"  repeated  she,  placing  the  accent  strongly 
on  the  "Z";  and  so  the  lesson  went  on.  Suddenly  a 
smile  of  joy  spread  itself  over  Poons's  features.  In 
searching  for  his  handkerchief  he  had  fished  out  a 
piece  of  paper  from  his  hip-pocket.  Joy!  it  wrs 
the  lost  declaration  of  dependence!  He  opened  it, 
and  read  her  the  following  with  such  ardent  tender 
ness  and  affection,  that  the  girl's  heart  fairly  beat 
double  time. 

"Fraulein  Chenny,"  he  began,  putting  the  piece  of 
paper  in  the  book  and  pretending  that  it  was  part 
of  his  lesson.  "Fraulein  Chenny,  I  cannot  mit  you 
life  midout — you  liff,"  and  then,  feeling  that  he  had 
somewhat  entangled  his  words,  he  repeated:  "I  can 
not  life  midout — you — Chenny — you  Chenny  mid- 
out."  Jenny  looked  at  him  in  perplexity.  His  man 
ner,  the  words — all  were  so  strange ! 

"That  isn't  in  the  lesson,"  she  managed  to  gasp, 
holding  down  her  head  bashfully. 

"I  cannot  life  midout  you  liff!  Luff,  Chenny, 
luff!"  he  added.  He  meant  love,  for  he  knew  the 
meaning  of  that,  and  he  waited  for  her  answer.  Per- 

128 


Chapter  Ctoelbe 

haps  she  did  not  understand,  but  if  she  did,  all  she 
seemed  able  to  say  was : 

"That  isn't  in  my  lesson,  Mr.  Poons;  it  isn't  in  my 
lesson!" 

,  What  Poons  said  in  response  to  Jenny's  statement 
will  never  be  known,  for  at  that  precise  moment  in 
walked  Von  Earwig,  who  had  just  returned  from  his 
weary,  useless  effort  to  sell  his  compositions.  His 
face  brightened  up  as  he  saw  the  young  lovers,  and 
a  beautiful  smile  chased  away  the  lines  of  sorrow 
and  suffering.  There  was  no  mistaking  Poon's 
attitude.  His  eyes  were  full  of  love,  and  he  held 
Jenny's  hand  in  his.  Although  she  indignantly 
snatched  it  away  as  soon  as  the  door  opened,  prob 
ably  thinking  it  was  her  aunt,  Von  Earwig  saw  the 
action,  and  it  brought  joy  to  his  poor,  bruised  old 
heart. 

"Come  here,  Jenny,"  he  said.  She  nestled  by  his 
side. 

"Poons,"  he  said  sternly  in  German,  "how  long  has 
this  been  going  on?" 

"I  don't  know,  Herr  Von  Earwig,"  replied  Poons, 
in  a  low  voice. 
.   "Jenny,  do  you  approve  of  his  action?" 

"I  don't  know,  professor,  I — "  Jenny  laid  her  head 
on  his  shoulder  and  Von  Earwig  knew  that  she  loved 
the  young  man. 

"Scoundrel!"  began  Von  Earwig,  turning  to  Poons. 
He  tried  to  be  serious,  but  the  expression  on  Pooris's 
face  made  him  smile  in  spite  of  himself.  Poons 
begged  him  to  speak  to  Jenny  for  him ;  he  pleaded  so 

129 


QCfje 

hard  that  Jenny  asked  Von  Earwig  if  he  was  talking 
about  her. 

"Ask  him  if  he  likes  me !"  said  Jenny  innocently. 

"I  will,"  replied  Von  Earwig,  and  he  turned  to 
Poons.  "Do  you  love  her?"  he  asked. 

Poons's  reply  was  a  torrent  of  burning  love,  a  flood 
of  words  that  let  loose  the  pent-up  emotion  of 
a  highly  strung  musical  temperament  that  for  months 
had  longed  for  utterance.  The  way  he  poured  out 
the  German  language  surprised  both  his  hearers;  it 
seemed  as  if  he  could  not  restrain  himself.  In  vain 
did  Von  Banvig  try  to  stem  the  onward  rush  of  the 
tidal  wave  of  talk,  for  declaration  followed  on 
declaration,  until  Poons  had  completely  poured  out 
all  he  had  wanted  to  tell  Jenny  for  months.  He  only 
stopped  then  because  he  had  fairly  exhausted  the  sub 
ject. 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Jenny  anxiously. 

"He  said,  yes,"  said  Von  Earwig,  with  a  faint  smile. 

Jenny  looked  at  him  shyly,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"Go  on,  love,  you  loon !"  said  Von  Earwig  to 
Poons  in  German,  "you  have  caught  your  fish.  Don't 
dangle  it  too  long  on  the  hook!" 

Poons  acted  on  the  suggestion,  and  took  Jenny  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her.  The  old  man  looked  on  ap 
provingly;  his  eyes  were  moist  with  tears,  but  his 
thoughts  were  far  away  from  the  lovers.  He  loved 
them,  yes;  they  were  good  children,  good,  dear,  chil 
dren,  but  his  heart  yearned  for  his  own  flesh  and 
blood.  It  did  not  satisfy  him  that  Jenny  put  iier  arms 
around  his  neck  and  kissed  him  gratefully,  or  that 

130 


tEtoelbe 

Poons  embraced  him  and  cried  over  him.  Their 
happiness  only  emphasised  his  misery.  He  wanted 
his  own  flesh  and  blood;  he  wanted  his  wife  and  his 
little  Helene. 

But,  feeling  that  he  was  selfish,  he  kissed  them  both 
affectionately,  and  promised  he  would  speak  to  Miss 
Husted  for  them  at  the  first  opportunity.  He  did 
not  have  to  wait  long,  for  a  few  moments  later  Miss 
Husted  came  into  the  room  with  a  letter  for  the 
"professor,"  and  saw  enough  to  convince  her  that 
Poons  and  her  niece  were  more  than  friends.  Poons 
wanted  to  pour  out  his  heart  to  Miss  Husted  and 
tell  her  all,  but  Von  Earwig  promptly  squelched  this 
impulse,  and  sent  him  out  of  the  room.  Jenny  fol 
lowed  him,  and  Von  Barwig  faced  Miss  Husted 
alone. 

"They  are  charming  young  people,"  began  Von  Bar- 
wig. 

"Yes,  when  they're  apart,"  she  replied. 

"Now  what  have  you  against  young  Poons?"  he 
asked  conciliatingly. 

"Nothing,"  replied  Miss  Husted,  "but  I  don't 
like  him!" 

"Ah,  if  you  knew  his  father!" 

"I  don't  see  how  that  would  make  any  difference? 
it's  the  young  man  himself  I  object  to!  Besides,  I 
have  tremendous  prospects  for  Jenny ;  she  is  going  to 
marry  a  rich  man,  a  very  rich  man." 

"This  is  news,"  said  Von  Barwig. 

"Yes,"  replied  Miss  Husted. 

"Who  is  the  gentleman?"  asked  Von  Barwig. 


faster 

"We  don't  know  him  yet;  he — "  Miss  Husted 
hesitated. 

"Ah,  I  see!"  said  Von  Earwig,  a  Hood  of  light 
breaking  in  on  him. 

"But  I  know  he  will  come!" 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head.  "You  have  been  con 
sulting  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  the  lady  who  promises 
you  a  fortune  for  fifty  cents.  Ah,  my  dear  Miss 
Husted,  when  will  you  understand  life  as  it  is? 
You  take  the  false  for  the  real  and  the  real  for  the 
false!" 

"I  take  Mr.  Poons  for  a  fool!"  said  Miss  Husted 
with  some  asperity,  "and  I  am  not  far  wrong." 

"On  the  contrary,"  assented  Von  Earwig,  "to  some 
extent  you  are  right,  quite  right!  But  he  is  young, 
and  he  is  in  love.  To  you,  perhaps,  love  is  foolish 
ness;  but  love  is  all  there  is  in  life."  There  was  quite 
a  pause.  Miss  Husted  toyed  \vith  the  letter  she  had 
not  yet  given  to  the  professor. 

"You  may  be  right,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Husted 
after  a  while.  She  was  more  placid  now,  more  like 
herself.  In  thought  she  had  gone  back  many  years 
to  a  certain  episode,  the  memory  of  which  softened 
her  toward  love's  young  dream,  and  even  toward 
Poons. 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  her  a  moment,  then  took  her 
hand  in  his. 

"Is  it  possible,  dear  lady,  that  you,  in  your  woman's 
heart,  never  wished  that  you  had  something  to  take 
care  of  besides  Skippy?" 

"Yes,  but  Mr.  Poons  is  not — "  began  Miss  Husted, 

132 


Cftapter 

and  then  she  blurted  out  "I  can't  understand 
him;  he  can't  understand  me.  I  might  talk  to  him 
for  a  week  and  he  wouldn't  know  what  I  was  talking 
about !" 

"Yes,  but  Jenny  understands  him.  What  joy  have 
you  in  life  alone  ?  Think  of  the  joy  of  seeing  a  young 
couple  begin  life,  just  like  two  young  birds  in  a  little 
bird's  nest !  God  put  love  into  their  hearts ;  can  you 
stop  them  ?  No,  neither  you  nor  I  can  forbid !  As 
well  try  to  count  the  sands  of  the  sea,  as  well  try  to 
stop  the  waves,  the  tides!" 

Miss  Husted  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  It  was 
evident  that  Von  Earwig  had  made  some  impression 
on  her,  but  she  would  not  admit  it. 

"I  had  built  such  hopes  on  Jenny,"  she  said,  shaking 
her  head  sadly, 

"Can  you  tell  how  Poons  will  turn  out?"  inquired 
Von  Earwig,  feeling  that  he  was  gaining  ground. 

Miss  Husted  elevated  her  nose  slightly,  and  handed 
the  professor  his  letter.  "He'll  turn  out  of  this 
house  if  he  makes  love  to  my  niece!"  she  said. 

"Give  the  matter  a  little  thought,"  urged  Von  Bar- 
wig.  "They  both  love  you,"  he  added. 

Miss  Husted  sighed  deeply  as  if  thoroughly  disap 
pointed.  Then  she  began  to  whimper.  She  told 
Von  Earwig  the  story  of  Jenny's  life;  which  story, 
with  variations,  he  had  heard  annually  for  many 
years.  He  listened  patiently,  and  agreed  with  her. 
Finally  he  extracted  from  her  a  promise  to  suspend 
action  in  reference  to  Poons  until  she  had  given  the 
matter  more  thought. 

133 


3Cfje 

''But  in  the  meantime,"  insisted  Miss  Husted,  "they 
must  not  speak!" 

Knowing  the  extent  of  their  knowledge  of  each 
other's  language,  Von  Earwig  readily  promised  on  be 
half  of  Poons  to  obey  her  injunction  to  the  letter,  and 
she  left  the  room  in  a  state  of  resignation. 

Von  Earwig  opened  his  letter,  his  eyes  fairly  glitter 
ing  with  excitement  as  he  read  the  following: 

"My  DEAR  VON  EARWIG:  No  doubt  you  thought 
I  had  forgotten  you,  but  such  is  not  the  case.  Your 
appointment  as  conductor  of  the  'Harmony  Hall  Con 
certs'  has  been  passed  on  favourably  by  the  promoters 
of  the  venture.  None  of  them  knew  you  or  had  ever 
heard  of  you,  but  I  soon  won  them  over,  and  I  am 
now  empowered  to  offer  you  a  liberal  salary  during 
the  engagement.  So  come  up  to  the  hall  at  your  earli 
est  convenience  and  let  us  discuss  details. 
"Yours  always  faithfully, 

"HERMANN  VAN  PRAAG." 

P.S.  "We  are  having  some  trouble  with  the  Unions, 
but  I  do  not  anticipate  any  serious  impediment  to  our 
progress." 

Von  Earwig's  blood  ran  hot  and  cold ;  his  heart  beat 
so  rapidly  he  could  hear  it.  He  read  the  letter  again 
and  again.  His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  out  into-' 
the  hall  to  tell  all  his  friends;  to  shout,  to  dance,  to' 
give  way  to  excitement.  This  he  resisted.  Then  a* 
great  calm  came  over  him;  the  end  of  his  ill  luck  had 
come  at  last.  It  was  a  long  lane,  but  the  turning  was 
there  and  he  had  reached  it.  Deep,  deep  down  in  his 
heart  the  man  thanked  God  for  His  kindness.  And 
as  he  read  the  letter  once  more,  he  wept  tears  of  joy, 

134 


Chapter  ©toelbe 

for  he  felt  that  his  deliverance  was  at  hand.  At  last, 
at  last,  when  well  on  the  brink  of  failure,  of  despair, 
perhaps  of  starvation,  this  great  joy  had  come  to  him ! 

In  order  to  realise  it  to  its  fullest  possible  extent  he 
,  sat  down  in  his  armchair  and  thought  it  all  out.  He 
'could  give  engagements  to  Poons,  to  Fico,  to  Pinac. 
Pinac  was  a  fairly  good  violin  player,  both  he  and 
Fico  played  well  enough  to  sit  at  the  back  desk  of 
the  second  violins.  Poons  would,  of  course,  be  one 
of  his  'cellists.  And  he,  himself?  He  need  never 
go  to  the  dreadful  Museum  again;  for  this  alone  he 
was  grateful.  Yes,  he  could  share  his  good  fortune 
with  his  friends;  he  could  even  make  it  possible  for 
Poons  to  marry  Jenny.  These  thoughts  filled  him 
with  such  wild  excitement  that  he  could  restrain  him 
self  no  longer.  He  rushed  out  into  the  hall,  and 
called  up  the  stairway  for  his  friends.  They  were  in, 
he  knew,  for  he  could  hear  them  practising.  As  soon 
as  they  heard  his  voice  they  came  trooping  down  the 
stairs,  making  so  much  noise  that  Miss  Husted  rushed 
out  of  her  room  and  asked  whether  the  house  was 
on  fire. 

They  all  crowded  pell-mell  into  Von  Earwig's  room. 
tWas  this  the  usually  calm,  dignified  professor? 
^Could  it  really  be  Von  Earwig  who  was  now  almost 
'shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  telling  them  to  send  in 
their  resignations  from  the  cafe,  that  they  need  play 
no  more  at  a  wretched  twenty-five  cent  table  d'hote 
for  their  existence.  He  would  provide  for  them,  he 
would  engage  them  forthwith  for  his  orchestra.  By 
degrees  they  understood,  and  when  they  did  under. 


stand  they  made  his  little  outburst  of  enthusiasm  ap 
pear  almost  feeble  and  weak-kneed  compared  to  the 
wild,  unrestrained,  excited,  and  enthusiastic  yells  of 
joy  that  they  let  loose.  They  embraced  each  other 
and  danced  around  the  room.  They  hugged  Miss 
Husted.  Poons  even  dared  to  kiss  her,  and  although 
she  slapped  his  face,  she  joined  in  the  Latin-Franco- 
Teutonic  melee  of  joy  as  though  she  herself  had  been 
one  of  them.  In  fact,  she  was  one  of  them!  Even 
then  their  happiness  did  not  come  to  an  end,  for  they 
ordered  a  good  dinner  for  themselves  at  Galazatti's. 

"To  hell  with  the  cafe"  said  Fico  as  he  wrote  to 
his  employer,  the  proprietor  of  the  restaurant,  saying 
they  did  not  intend  to  play  that  night,  and  could  never 
come  again. 

"Table  d'hote,  nothing!  Not  for  me,  never  again," 
said  Pinac  as  he  indited  his  resignation.  "A  has  le 
cafe!" 

"I  don't  trouble  to  write  at  all,"  said  Poons  in  Ger 
man,  "I  simply  don't  go." 

Presently  the  dinner  came,  and  what  a  dinner  it  was. 
The  (California)  wine  flowed  like  water,  and  this 
was  true  literally,  for  more  than  once  Von  Earwig 
was  compelled  to  put  water  in  the  demijohn  to  make 
it  last  out.  They  all  talked  at  once,  and  everybody 
ate,  drank  and  made  merry.  Miss  Husted  sang  a 
song! 

After  the  rattle  and  banging  of  plates,  knives  and 
forks  had  subsided  and  the  coffee  had  been  brought 
in,  Von  Earwig  was  called  upon  to  make  a  speech. 
Somehow  or  other  his  mind  reverted  to  the  last  speech 


QTtoelbe 

he  had  made,  so  many,  many  years  ago,  when  he  had 
accepted  the  conductorship  of  the  Leipsic  Philhar 
monic  Orchestra.  It  seemed  strange  to  him  now, 
nearly  twenty  years  later,  that  he  should  be  called 
upon  to  speak  on  an  almost  similar  occasion.  Then, 
too,  there  had  been  a  banquet.  He  made  a  few  re 
marks  appropriate  to  the  occasion  and  finally  drank 
a  toast  to  the  standard  of  musical  purity. 

This  was  Pinac's  opportunity.  "No,  no,  Von  Bar- 
wig  !"  he  said,  "we  are  not  fit  to  drink  such  a  toast ! 
We  are  in  the  gutter.  It  is  you,  my  friend,  you  alone 
of  all  these  present,  who  does  not  sink  himself  to  play 
for  money  at  a  cafe  on  Liberty  Street.  To  Von  Bar- 
wig,  the  artist!" 

The  rattle  of  plates,  knives  and  forks  attested  the 
popularity  of  this  sentiment;  then  Fico  began: 

"It  is  you  only  who  keeps  up  the  standard."  More 
applause.  "You  are  the  standard  bearer,  the  gen 
eral.  You  lead;  we  follow,"  at  which  the  clapping 
was  vociferous. 

Von  Barwig  felt  keenly  the  falsity  of  his  position  at 
that  moment.  He  thought  of  the  deception,  the  lie 
he  was  practising  on  them.  He  had  sunk  lower  than 
they,  far  lower,  for  he  was  playing  in  a  dime  museum. 
He  could  not  bear  their  praises;  for  he  knew  he  did 
not  deserve  them.  He  inwardly  determined  to  tell 
them  the  truth,  but  not  at  that  moment,  for  he  did 
not  want  to  dampen  their  spirits.  As  the  cognac  and 
cigars  were  placed  on  the  table  Miss  Husted  rose 
grandly,  and  stated  that  the  ladies  would  now  with 
draw;  whereupon  she  and  Jenny  left  the  room, 

137 


proudly  curtseying  themselves  out.  "La  grandb 
dame!"  said  Pinac  as  he  bowed  low  to  her.  The 
men  then  talked  over  their  prospects,  their  hopes, 
even  getting  so  far  as  to  discuss  the  opening  pro- 
^gramme.  An  idea  occurred  to  Von  Earwig,  "Why 
not  open  with  his  symphony?"  The  men  almost 
cheered  at  the  idea,  so  he  unlocked  the  little  trunk 
and  took  it  out.  There  it  was,  covered  with  the  dust 
of  years  and  almost  coffee-coloured.  As  he  took  it 
out  of  the  trunk,  something  fell  out  from  between 
the  pages  and  dropped  upon  the  floor.  He  picked  it 
up,  and  his  heart  stood  still  for  a  moment  as  he 
glanced  at  it,  for  it  was  a  miniature  portrait  of  his 
wife.  He  thrust  it  hastily  in  his  pocket  and  went  on 
distributing  the  parts  of  the  symphony. 

"You,  the  first  violin,  Pinac,"  and  he  handed  him 
his  part.  "For  you,  Fico,  the  second  violin.  Poons, 
the  'cello,  of  course,"  and  the  men  hurried  to  get  their 
instruments. 


Chapter  thirteen 

3T  was  late  the  following  morning  when  Von 
Earwig  returned  from  his  interview  with  Van! 
Praag.  All  the  details  had  been  settled  satis 
factorily,  and  his  three  friends  were  to  be  engaged. 
Von  Earwig  had  not  yet  left  the  Museum ;  his  sense 
of  obligation  to  Costello  was  too  great  to  permit 
him  to  desert  him  without  notice,  so  it  was  un 
derstood  that  he  was  to  leave  at  the  end  of  the 
week.  How  Von  Earwig  welcomed  the  thought 
of  that  Saturday  night,  and  it  was  only  Wednes 
day! 

When  Von  Earwig  came  in,  the  men  were  in  his 
room  practising  their  t  parts  of  the  symphony.  His 
arrival  put  an  end  to  further  work.  They  wanted  to 
talk  about  their  "grand  new  engagement,"  as  Pinac 
called  it. 

Von  Earwig  produced  some  cigars  that  Van  Praag 
had  forced  on  him,  and  the  men  sat  talking  of  their 
prospects,  and  smoking  until  the  room  looked  like  an 
inferno. 

While  they  were  debating  as  to  where  they  should 
dine  that  night,  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Von  Earwig  hastened  to  open  it.  A  somewhat  portly, 
rather  well-dressed,  middle-aged  individual  entered. 
He  was  followed  by  another  person,  a  tall,  lantern- 
jawed  man  of  the  artisan  type,  who  looked  around 
defiantly  as  he  came  into  the  room. 

139 


Jlusic  faster 

"Does  Anton  Von  Earwig  live  here?"  demanded 
the  first  comer. 

Von  Earwig  did  not  know  the  gentleman  who  made 
the  inquiry. 

"Why,  it  is  Schwarz!  how  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Schwarz?"  said  Pinac,  coming  forward  and  shaking 
hands  with  him,  and  he  then  introduced  him  to  Von 
Earwig  as  Mr.  Wolf  Schwarz,  the  Secretary  of  the 
Amalgamated  Musical  Association. 

Mr.  Schwarz  then  introduced  his  companion  as  Mr. 
Ryan,  the  representative  of  the  Brickmakers'  Union. 
"Shake  hands  with  Professor  Von  Earwig,  Mr. 
Ryan,"  said  Schwarz.  Mr.  Ryan  did  so  with  such 
enthusiasm  that  Von  Earwig  was  glad  to  withdraw 
his  hand. 

Mr.  Schwarz  was  an  Americanised  German,  far 
more  American  than  the  most  dyed-in-the-wool, 
natural-born  citizen  of  the  United  States.  Had  any 
one  called  him  a  German,  he  would  have  repudiated 
the  suggestion  as  an  insult.  He  knew  the  American 
Constitution  backward,  and  he  determined  that  others 
should  know  it,  too.  His  demand  for  his  rights  as 
an  American  citizen  was  the  predominating  charac 
teristic  of  his  nature,  for  he  was  a  born  demagogue 
of  the  most  pronounced  type.  It  did  not  take  Mr. 
Schwarz  long  to  make  clear  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"You  don't  come  to  our  rooms  very  much,  Von 
Earwig,"  he  said. 

Von  Earwig  pleaded  stress  of  business  as  an  excuse. 

"If  you  had,"  went  on  Mr.  Schwarz,  taking  up  the 
thread  of  his  remarks  without  noticing  Von  Earwig's 

140 


Chapter 

apology,  "you'd  know  that  Van  Praag  and  those  fel 
lows  up  at  Harmony  Hall  are  on  the  black-list." 

"Black-list?"  said  Von  Earwig  apprehensively. 

"Mr.  Ryan  here  represents  a  delegation  from  the 
Brickmakers'  Union,"  stated  Mr.  Schwarz,  coughing 
and  clearing  his  throat,  thus  indicating  the  importance 
of  the  statement  that  he  was  about  to  make. 

"Well?"  asked  Von  Barwig,  who  did  not  see  the 
value  of  the  information  just  furnished  by  Mr. 
Schwarz. 

"Well,"  repeated  Mr.  Schwarz,  "The  Brickmakers' 
Union  has  just  affiliated  with  our  musical  associa 


tion." 


"Music  and  bricks — affiliated!"  The  idea  rather 
appealed  to  Von  Earwig's  sense  of  humour  and  he 
laughed.  "Music  and  bricks,"  he  repeated,  but  this 
attempt  at  pleasantry  did  not  meet  with  much  re 
sponse  from  Mr.  Schwarz.  That  gentleman  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders  while  Mr.  Ryan,  the  brick- 
makers'  delegate,  contented  himself  with  squirting 
some  tobacco  juice  into  the  adjacent  fireplace  and  tilt 
ing  his  hat,  which  he  had  neglected  to  remove,  over 
one  eye,  while  he  surveyed  Von  Barwig  with  an  un 
pleasant  stare  from  the  other,  thus  indicating  that  he 
wanted  no  nonsense. 

"Music  and  bricks,"  repeated  Von  Barwig,  who 
evidently  enjoyed  the  incongruity  of  the  combination: 
Then  noticing  that  Ryan  was  standing  he  said  with 
a  smile,  "Brother  artist,  be  seated !"  Pinac  and  Fico 
roared  with  laughter.  Mr.  Ryan  sat  down,  mumbling 
to  himself  that  that  sort  of  sarcasm  didn't  go  with 

141 


ic  jiflaster 

him;  he  was  a  workman,  not  an  artist.  Von  Earwig 
apologised  and  then,  looking  at  Schwarz,  waited  for 
him  to  speak.  A  very  awkward  pause  ensued. 

"You've  had  an  offer  from  the  Harmony  Hall  Con« 
kcerts,  under  the  management  of  Van  Praag,"  stated 
Schwarz. 

"Yes,"  assented  Von  Earwig,  who  began  to  perceive 
for  the  first  time  that  his  visitors  had  come  on  a  mat 
ter  of  more  or  less  serious  import. 

"Well,"  began  Schwarz,  "you've  got  to  hold  off 
for  the  present." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  said  Von  Earwig. 

"You've  got  to  throw  up  the  job,"  broke  in  Mr. 
Ryan,  emphasising  the  statement  by  allowing  his 
walking  stick  to  fall  heavily  on  a  pile  of  music  which 
lay  on  the  piano. 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  him  but  did  not  speak. 

"You  can't  go  on,"  said  Schwarz. 

"Not  while  scabs  are  working  there,"  added  Mr. 
Ryan  sententiously. 

Von  Earwig  tried  to  speak  but  could  not;  words 
would  not  come.  His  heart  had  almost  stopped  beat 
ing.  Finally  he  managed  to  gasp,  "What  does  it 
mean;  all  this?" 

"Our  association  has  been  notified  that  Van  Praag 
is  having  his  new  music  hall  built  with  non-union 
bricks,  and 

"Scabs,"  broke  in  Mr.  Ryan,  once  more  banging  the 
inoffensive  music  with  his  stick.  "Scabs !  We  called 
out  our  men  and  they  put  in  scab  carpenters.  The 
carpenters  went  out  and  the  plumbers  have  gone  out; 

142 


Chapter 

theyVe  all  gone  out,  and  now  it's  only  fair — that — • 
you  should  go  out.  Stick  together  and  we'll  win;  in 
other  words,  'united  we  stand,  divided  we  fall.'  Am 
I  right,  Schwarz?" 

Mr.  Schwarz  did  not  commit  himself  as  to  the  merits 
Df  the  case;  he  was  not  there  for  that  purpose.  He 
was  there  to  carry  out  the  wishes  of  the  association, 
so  he  merely  contented  himself  with  saying  that  the 
musicians  would  undoubtedly  have  to  go  out  under 
the  term  of  the  affiliation. 

"Music  and  bricks  has  got  to  stand  by  each  other,'* 
said  Mr.  Ryan,  unconsciously  quoting  Von  Earwig. 
"They've  got  to,  or  there'll  be  no  music;  and  no 
bricks." 

Music  and  bricks,  then,  was  no  longer  a  joke.  It 
was  a  reality,  a  dreadful  impossibility  that  had  become 
true;  and  Von  Earwig's  heart  sank  as  he  looked  at 
his  friends,  and  saw  by  their  faces  that  they,  too, 
realised  what  it  meant.  They  were  in  the  midst  of  a 
sympathetic  strike;  the  question  of  the  right  or  wrong 
of  it  did  not  appear.  It  was  immaterial;  right  or 
wrong,  they  must  go  out  because  others  went;  those 
were  the  orders  from  headquarters. 

"Of  course,  Von  Earwig,  you'll  stand  for  whatever 
the  Amalgamated  stands  for?"  said  Schwarz. 

"You'll  resign  until  the  matter  is  settled,  I  pre 
sume?"  queried  Mr.  Ryan.  Von  Earwig  shook  his 
head.  A  faint  "no"  issued  from  his  throat,  which 
had  literally  dried  up  from  fear;  the  fear  of  losing 
the  happiness  he  had  had  just  now,  the  fear  of  going- 
back  to  that  dreaded  night-drudgery  again.  All  their 

143 


hopes  were  shattered,  their  anticipations  were  not  to 
be  realised. 

"Of  course — I — I  am  of  the  Union.  I  stand  by  the 
Union — of  course.  I — but  it's — it's  hard!"  Then 
with  an  effort,  "It  will  not  last  long,  eh?" 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Ryan,  "it  won't  last  a  month! 
We'll  put  them  out  of  business  if  it  does.  They'll 
weaken,  Mr.  Earwig,  you'll  see !  They'll  weaken  all 
right."  The  ashen  appearance  of  Von  Earwig's  face, 
the  abject  despair  he  saw  depicted  there  aroused  the 
man's  sympathy.  "It  won't  be  long,  Mr.  Earwig," 
he  repeated  in  a  softened  voice.  "I  know  it's  hard, 
but  what  are  we  to  do?  If  we  don't  stand  together, 
we'll  be  swamped." 

"That's  right,"  said  Schwarz. 

"It  ain't  sympathy;  it's  self-defence,  Earwig,"  de 
clared  Mr.  Ryan,  uftering  what  he  thought  was  a 
great  truth. 

"Yes,  yes,"  muttered  Von  Earwig.  Hope  had  gone 
completely  from  him  now. 

"Self-defence,"  he  repeated,  and  then  he  laughed 
bitterly.  "The  art  of  music  progresses.  Wagner 
should  be  glad  that  he  is  dead." 

"Wagner?  Who  is  Wagner?"  inquired  Mr.  Ryan. 
;  "No  one,  no  one !"  replied  Von  Earwig,  shaking  his 
'head,  "he  did  not  belong  to  the  Union " 

"Then  he's  a  scab,"  remarked  Mr.  Ryan. 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  him  and  burst  out  laughing, 
the  laughter  of  despair.  Pinac  and  Fico  looked  at 
each  other.  Von  Earwig's  laugh  grated  harshly  on 
their  ears;  they  did  not  like  to  see  their  beloved  friend 

144 


Cijaptet 

act  in  that  manner.  Pinac  touched  him  gently  on  the 
arm  and  looked  appealingly  at  him.  Von  Earwig 
nodded,  then  rising  from  his  chair,  with  his  habitual 
gentleness,  suggested  that  the  interview  was  at  an 
end.  Messrs.  Schwarz  and  Ryan  bowed  themselves 
out  and  the  four  friends  were  left  there  alone  with 
f  their  misery. 

Von  Earwig  turned  to  his  friends.  It  was  for  them 
that  his  heart  bled,  for  they  had  resigned  their  posi 
tions  at  his  request.  For  the  first  time  since  their 
friendship  he  had  been  the  cause  of  misfortune  com 
ing  to  them.  He  felt  it  more  than  all  the  disappoint 
ments  that  he  had  experienced  during  his  stay  in 
America.  "I  am  accursed,"  he  thought,  "doomed  al 
ways  to  disappointments,  and  I  am  now  a  curse  to 
others,  to  those  I  love."  He  tried  to  tell  them  how 
grieved  he  was  at  their  misfortune,  but  they  would 
not  allow  him  to  apologise,  so  he  sat  down  in  his  old 
armchair  and  tried  to  smoke,  but  he  could  not.  His 
heart  was  as  heavy  as  lead.  They  saw  this  and  they 
felt  for  him;  they  felt  his  sufferings  more  than  they 
did  their  own. 

"We  have  resign  from  the  cafe,  yes,  but  we  are 
tglad,  damn  glad,"  said  Pinac,  lying  like  a  true  Gallic 
'/gentleman.  "Von  Earwig,  I  tell  you  we  are  deuced 
'damn  glad,"  he  repeated  with  emphasis. 

Von  Earwig  silently  shook  his  hand  and  smiled. 

"I  said  to  hell  with  the  cafe — I  say  it  now!"  ejacu 
lated  Fico.  "The  cafe  to  hell,  and  many  of  him!" 

"My  beautiful  'cello  is  wasted  in  that  food  hole," 
said  Poons  to  Von  Earwig  in  German,  then  he 

145 


u  JWaster 

laughed  and  told  him  a  funny  story  that  he  had  read 
that  day  in  the  Fliegende  Blatter.  He  did  his  best 
to  make  the  old  man  laugh  with  him,  but  Von  Earwig 
only  smiled  sadly.  He  did  not  speak;  his  heart  was 
too  heavy. 

"It  won't  last  long!  You  see,  it  won't  last  long!" 
said  Pinac,  again  trying  to  comfort  him.  "Come, 
boys,  we  go  upstairs  and  play.  We  play  for  you,  An 
ton,  eh?" 

Von  Earwig  made  no  reply.  The  men  looked  at 
each  other  significantly  and  tried  to  cheer  him  up  by 
striking  up  a  song  and  marching  around  the  room; 
but  they  saw  that  the  iron  had  entered  deep,  deep  into 
his  soul,  and  that  he  was  thoroughly  disheartened. 

"Come!  We  go  and  play;  perhaps  that  will  arouse 
him,"  whispered  Pinac  to  the  others.  And  they 
marched  out  of  the  room  singing  the  refrain  of  one 
of  the  student  glees  that  Von  Earwig  had  taught 
them. 

Von  Earwig  sat  there  quite  still  for  a  long  time. 
His  thoughts  were  formless.  In  a  chaotic  way 
he  realised  that  he  had  played  the  game  of  life  and 
had  lost;  he  seemed  to  feel  instinctively  that  the  end 
had  come.  He  had  the  Museum  to  go  to,  that  could 
supply  his  daily  needs,  but  he  was  tired,  oh,  so  tired 
of  the  struggle.  There  was  nothing  to  look  forward 
to — nothing,  nothing.  He  arose  with  a  deep,  deep 
sigh. 

"I  am  tired,"  he  said  to  himself,  "tired  out  com 
pletely.  I  am  like  an  old  broken-down  violin  that 
can  no  longer  emit  a  sound.  My  heart  is  gone ;  there 

146 


Chapter  Wtjtrteen 

is  no  sounding  post;  I  am  finished.  I  have  been  fin 
ished  a  long  time,  only  I  did  not  know  it."  He  arose 
slowly  from  his  chair  and  took  his  pipe  off  the  mantel 
piece.  As  he  slowly  filled  it  his  eyes  lighted  on  a 
wooden  baton  that  lay  on  the  mantelpiece.  He  took 
it  up  and  looked  at  it.  It  was  the  baton  with  which 
he  conducted  his  last  symphony.  He  smiled  and 
shook  his  head.  "I  am  through;  thoroughly  and 
completely  through,"  and  he  broke  the  conductor's 
Wand  in  pieces  and  threw  them  into  the  fire.  "That 
finishes  me!"  he  said.  "I  am  snapped;  broken  in 
little  bits.  I  did  not  ask  to  live,  but  now, — now,  I 
ask  to  die!  To  die,  that  is  all  I  ask,  to  die."  He 
took  out  the  little  miniature  of  his  wife  and  looked  at 
it  long  and  tenderly.  "Elene,  Elene!  My  wife, 
where  are  you  ?  If  you  knew  what  I  go  through  you 
would  come  to  me!  Give  me  the  sign  I  wait  for  so 
long,  that  I  may  find  you." 

He  listened,  but  no  answer  came ;  then  a  new  thought 
came  to  him. 

"I  go  back  home,  home;  for  here  I  am  a  stranger; 
they  do  not  know  me.  The  way  is  long,  so  long—" 
and  then  he  started,  for  he  heard  the  strains  of  the 
^second  movement  of  his  symphony  which  was  being 
!  played  in  the  room  above.  It  brought  him  back  to 
himself,  and  he  listened — listened  as  one  who  hears 
a  voice  from  the  dead.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the 
requiem  of  all  his  hopes  was  being  played.  He  was 
still  looking  at  the  picture  of  his  wife  when  Jenny 
entered.  She  had  come  to  fetch  the  lamp,  to  fill  it 
with  oil.  The  short  winter  afternoon  was  drawing  to 

H7 


tc  Jflastfer 

a  close  and  the  dusk  was  deepening  into  darkness. 
The  red  rays  of  the  setting  sun  came  in  through  the 
window  and  as  it  bathed  him  in  its  crimson  glow  it 
made  a  sort  of  a  halo  around  the  old  man's  head. 
Jenny  gazed  at  him  for  a  long  time  and  was  surprised 
that  he  did  not  speak;  but  Von  Earwig  was  not  con-x 
scious  of  her  presence.  She  looked  at  him  more 
closely  and  saw  the  tears  in  his  eyes;  then  she  came 
over  to  him  and  nestled  closely  by  his  side.  In  a 
moment  her  woman's  instinct  divined  his  need  of  sym 
pathy  and  her  heart  went  out  to  him. 

"Don't  look  like  that,"  she  pleaded,  "I  can't  bear 
to  see  it !  I've  always  known  that  something  troubled 
you,  that  you've  something  to  bear  that  you've  kept 
back  from  us.  Tell  me,  tell  me!  Don't  keep  it  to 
yourself,  it's  eating  your  heart  out.  You  know  I 
love  you;  don't — don't  keep  it  back,"  and  she  placed 
her  arm  around  his  neck  and  wept  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  Her  action  brought  Von  Earwig  to 
himself  and  he  patted  her  gently  on  the  back.  "Why, 
Jenny,  my  little  Jenny!  Yes,  I  know  you  love  me, 
and  I — I  tell  you.  Yes,  Jenny,  I  tell  you " 

Jenny  nestled  closer  to  him;  it  was  a  sorrowful 
moment  for  the  old  man,  and  he  needed  some  one* 
to  lead  him  into  the  light.     Slowly,  slowly,  but  surely; 
the  young  girl  led  him  out  of  his  mental  chaos.     His 
heart  had  been  perilously  near  the  breaking  point, 
but  he  could  think  more  calmly  now. 

"I — when — I  came  over  to  this  country  I — I  looked 
for  some  one  that  I  never  found.  I  have — no  luck, 
Jenny,  no  luck,"  he  said  in  a  broken  voice,  "and  I 

148 


Chapter 

bring  no  luck  to  others."  He  paused  and  then  went 
on:  "I  stay  here  no  longer,  Jenny.  I  go  back;  it's 
better !  Yes,  I  go  back  to  my  own  country." 

"Oh,  no,  don't  go  back!"  pleaded  the  girl. 

"Yes,  I  go;  I  must  go,"  the  old  man  said. 

She  clung  tightly  to  him  now,  as  if  she  would  not 
let  him  go.  He  smiled  at  her  but  shook  his  head. 
"It  is  better,"  he  said  gravely,  "far  better.  I  cannot 
trust  myself  here  alone;  it  is  too  much  alone!  I 
love  you  all,  but  I  am  alone.  There  is  an  aching 
void  which  must  be  filled*  I  cannot  trust  myself  alone 
any  longer." 

She  did  not  understand  him,  nor  did  she  inquire 
of  him  his  meaning.  She  only  clung  to  him,  as  if 
determined  not  to  lose  him. 

"When  you  are  married,  Jenny,"  he  went  on,  "I 
shall  not  be  here.  But  keep  well  to  the  house,  love 
your  husband,  stay  at  home.  Don't  search  here, 
there,  everywhere  for  excitement!  The  real  happi 
ness  for  the  mother  is  always  in  the  home;  always, 
always!  One  imprudent  step  and  the  mother's  hap 
piness  goes,  and  the  father's,  too,"  he  added  pa 
thetically. 

"Whose  picture  is  that?"  asked  Jenny,  as  she  caught 
sight  of  the  miniature  in  Von  Earwig's  hand. 

"The  mother,  my  wife;"  he  said  in  a  low,  sad  voice. 

"Ah!"  and  Jenny  looked  closely  at  the  picture. 

"The  mother  who  loved  not  the  home,  and  from 
that's  come  all  the  sorrow !  She  loved  not  the  home." 
Von  Banvig's  words  came  quickly  now,  and  were  in 
terspersed  with  dry,  inarticulate  sobs.  "The  mother 

149 


ic  faster 

of  my  little  girl,  for  whose  memory  I  love  you.  Ah, 
keep  to  the  home,  Jenny,  for  God's  sake!  Always 
the  home!" 

Jenny  nodded.  "Where  are  they?"  she  asked, 
pointing  to  the  portrait. 

"Ah,  where  are  they?'7  he  almost  sobbed.  "For 
sixteen  years  I  have  not  seen  my  own  flesh  and  blood ! 
He,  my  friend  who  did  this  to  rne,  robbed  me  of 
them,  and  took  them  far,  far  away  from  me.  I 
mustn't  say  more!" 

Jenny  understood ;  she  no  longer  looked  tenderly  at 
the  portrait.  She  pointed  to  it  almost  in  horror. 
"She  was  not  a  good  woman?" 

Von  Earwig  was  shocked.  Here  was  the  verdict 
of  the  world,  through  the  mouth  of  a  child.  He  had 
never  thought  of  his  wife  as  bad. 

"She  was  a  good  woman;  not  bad,  not  bad!  No, 
no,  Jenny!  I  thought  of  nothing  but  my  art,  of 
music,  of  fame,  fortune.  One  night,  the  night 
of  the  big  concert,  when  I  came  home  she  had 
gone  and  she  had  taken  with  her  my  little  Helene. 
It  was  the  night  that  symphony  was  played.  Listen, 
you  hear,  you  hear?  It's  the  second  movement.  It 
was  a  wonderful  success,  but  ah,  Jenny,  that  night 
I  won  the  world's  applause,  but  I  lost  my  own 
soul!" 

The  strains  of  the  music  came  through  the  open 
door.  Jenny  looked  at  him.  He  was  listening  ea 
gerly  now.  In  the  red  glow  of  the  late  afternoon  sun 
his  eyes  sparkled  with  unnatural  excitement. 

"It  takes  me  home,"  he  said,  and  then  he  looked  at 

IJ5Q 


Chapter 

the  picture.  "Not  bad;  oh,  no,  Jenny,  she  is  not 
bad!" 

Jenny  shook  her  head.  She  hated  the  woman  from 
that  moment. 

"She  is  bad,"  she  thought,  "or  how  could  she  have 
done  it?"  But  she  did  not  speak,  and  the  old  man 
went  on: 

"I  am  not  angry !  No,  mein  Gott,  no !  I  only  want 
my  little  girl.  Anything  to  have  her  back,  my  baby, 
my  little  baby  girl,  gone  these  sixteen  years!  My 
little  baby!" 

"Yes,  but  she  wouldn't  be  a  baby  now,"  broke  in 
Jenny. 

Von  Earwig,  about  to  speak,  stopped  suddenly.  "Of 
course  not ;  I  never  thought  of  that !"  Then  he  shook 
his  head  violently. 

"I  cannot  think  of  her  as  anything  but  a  baby!" 

"Yes,  but  she'd  be  a  grown-up  young  lady,"  insisted 
Jenny. 

"How  old  was  she  when  you — when  she — when  you 
left  her." 

"Three  years  and  two  months,"  said  Von  Earwig 
softly. 

"Then  she'd  be  nineteen,"  said  Jenny,  "just  my  age; 
^a  big,  grown-up  young  lady." 

"She  is  my  little  baby,"  repeated  Von  Earwig 
plaintively.  "I  can  see  her  now  so  plainly;  always 
playing  with  her  little  doll — the  doll  with  one  eye  out. 
That  was  the  doll  she  loved,  Jenny;  the  doll  she  had 
when  I  last  saw  her." 

The  old  man  was  calm  now.    The  idea  that  the  girl 


c  faster 

was  a  grown-up  young  woman,  although  obvious 
enough,  changed  his  train  of  thought.  For  the  mo 
ment  it  took  his  attention  from  the  immediate  cause 
of  his  unhappiness,  and  brought  his  imagination  into 
vlay. 

UA  grown-up  young  lady!"  he  mused.  "Yes,  of 
tourse !  But  I  can't  see  her  as  grown  up ;  I  can't  see 
her,  Jenny.  I  can  only  remember  her  as  a  wee  tot 
walking  around  with  her  one-eyed  doll;  the  eye  she 
kicked  out!  I  remember  that  so  well." 

In  spite  of  his  misery,  the  old  man  laughed  aloud 
as  he  recalled  the  circumstance  that  led  up  to  the  loss 
of  the  eye.  The  consternation  in  the  face  of  the  child 
as  she  handed  him  the  piece  of  broken  eye  had  made 
him  laugh;  and  he  laughed  now  hysterically  as  he 
recalled  the  incident.  Jenny  seeing  him  laugh, 
laughed  too. 

"Thank  God  he  can  still  laugh,"  she  thought. 

"Ah,  well!"  he  went  on,  drawing  a  deep  breath. 
"They  are  gone,  and  I — look  no  more.  My  search 
is  over,  Jenny,  over  and  done.  But  I  go  back;  I  see 
once  more  my  Leipsic.  There  they  know  me !  Here 
I  am  an  outcast,  a  beggar." 

Jenny  could  only  shake  her  head  and  look  at  him 
helplessly.  She  realised  that  any  effort  she  might 
make  to  influence  him  to  change  his  plans  would  be 
useless;  and  more  and  more  did  she  hate  the  woman 
who  had  been  the  cause  of  all  his  misery,  the  woman 
whose  portrait  he  looked  at  so  lovingly. 

"A  beggar,"  Von  Barwig  repeated  to  himself. 
uYes,  that's  it!  I  can  fall  no  lower,  I  give  up!'* 

152 


Chapter  thirteen 

The  fortune  of  the  broken-spirited,  broken-hearted 
old  man  was  now  at  its  lowest  ebb;  and  he  gave  up 
the  fight.  There  was  a  long  silence.  Jenny  was 
thinking  hard.  What  could  she  say  or  do ;  how  could 
she  help  him?" 

A  knock  at  the  door  broke  the  stillness,  which  had 
become  almost  oppressive. 


Chapter  Jfourteen 


'm>"  sa*d  Von  Earwig  wearily.  He  barely 
looked  at  the  door  as  it  opened.  In  the  ordi 
nary  course  of  events  it  was  likely  to  be  the 
laundry  boy,  or  Thurza  with  coal,  or  one  of  the 
musicians  who  lived  in  the  house,  or  perhaps  a  collec 
tor.  It  might  have  been  almost  any  one  but  the  liver 
ied  footman  who  now  stood  at  the  door,  hat  in  hand, 
with  a  look  of  inquiry  upon  his  face.  Von  Earwig 
stared  at  the  man  in  astonishment.  Liveries  in  Hous 
ton  Street  were  most  uncommon. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  I  am  looking  for  a  Mr.  Von  Bar- 
wig,"  he  said.  "I  was  directed  to  come  here.  Is 
this  the  right  place,  sir?"  The  man's  manner  was 
polite  enough,  but  there  was  a  decided  attitude  of 
superiority  in  his  somewhat  supercilious  tone.  Jenny 
made  her  escape  hastily. 

Von  Earwig  could  not  collect  his  thoughts.  He 
simply  looked  at  the  man  and  made  no  reply. 

"He's  a  music  master  in  the  neighbourhood,  I  be 
lieve,  sir,"  went  on  the  servant.  "A  music  master," 
he  repeated. 

"Yes,  he  was;  but  he  is  no  more,"  said  Von  Earwig, 
who  now  realised  that  the  man  wanted  to  find  him. 

"Dead,  sir?" 

"No,  I  am  Mr.  Von  Earwig.  I  teach,  but  I  give 
up.  You  hear?  I  have  finished;  I  give  up,  I  give 
upl"  he  repeated  in  a  voice  quivering  with  emotiop 

154 


Chapter  ^fourteen 

as  he  walked  up  to  the  window.  There  was  such  utter 
pathos  in  the  old  man's  bearing  that  it  caused  even 
the  footman  to  turn  and  look  at  the  speaker  more 
closely.  There  was  a  pause ;  the  servant  appeared  un 
certain  what  to  do. 

"Did  you  find  him,  Joles?"  asked  some  one  com 
ing  into  the  room.  The  voice  was  that  of  a  young 
lady,  who  was  accompanied  by  a  little  boy  carrying 
a  violin  case.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice  Von  Earwig 
started  as  if  he  had  been  shot,  and  with  a  half  articu 
late  cry  he  turned  and  gazed  in  the  direction  from 
whence  the  voice  came.  He  saw  in  the  dim  twilight, 
for  the  sun  had  now  nearly  gone  down,  the  half- 
blurred  vision  of  a  young  lady  dressed  in  the  height 
of  fashion.  Her  features  he  could  not  distinguish, 
as  her  back  was  to  the  window,  but  he  could  see  that 
she  was  a  handsome  young  woman  of  about  twenty 
years  of  age.  As  Von  Earwig  turned  toward  her  she 
looked  at  her  note-book  and  asked  if  he  were  Herr 
Von  Earwig. 

The  old  man  bowed,  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not. 
His  tongue  cleaved  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  He 
pointed  to  a  chair,  and  indicated  that  she  should  be 
seated.  She  noticed  his  embarrassment  and  addressed 
the  servant. 

"You  had  better  wait  for  me  downstairs,  Joles," 
she  said  quickly.  Then  as  the  man  closed  the 
door  behind  him  she  turned  to  Von  Earwig,  and 
spoke  in  a  rich,  warm,  contralto  voice  that  vibrated 
with  youth  and  health.  "You  teach  music,  do  you 
not?  At  least  they  said  you  did!" 

155 


Von  Earwig  swallowed  a  huge  lump  in  his  throat. 
"I  did,  but — not  now;  I  have  given  up."  She  looked 
at  him  but  did  not  seem  to  understand.  "Lieber  Gott, 
Lieber  Gott !"  broke  from  him  in  spite  of  his  efforts 
to  suppress  himself.  "Elene,  Elene!"  Then  he 
looked  more  closely  at  her  and  shook  his  head. 

"So  you  are  not  teaching  any  longer?  Ah,  what  a 
pity!"  she  said.  "They  speak  so  well  of  you  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  induce  you 
to  change  your  mind!" 

Von  Earwig  was  now  slowly  gaining  mastery  over 
himself. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  with  a  great  effort  at  self- 
control. 

"You  do  not  know  me,  Herr  Von  Earwig?" 

The  old  man's  eyes  glowed  like  live  coals.  "Elene, 
Elene!"  he  murmured.  "The  living  image!  Lieber 
Gott,  the  living  image!" 

"I  am  Miss  Helene  Stanton,"  she  said  with  uncon 
scious  dignity.  "You  may  have  heard  of  me,"  she 
added  with  a  smile. 

Miss  Stanton's  name  was  a  household  word  in  New 
York,  especially  in  that  quarter  of  the  city  where 
her  large  charities  had  done  so  much  to  alleviate  the 
sufferings  of  the  poor.  Von  Earwig  had  heard  the 
name  many  times,  but  at  that  moment  he  did  not  rec 
ognise  it,  although  it  was  the  name  of  the  greatest 
heiress  in  New  York. 

His  ear  caught  the  word  "Helene"  and  he  could  only 
repeat  it  over  and  over  again. 

"Elene,  Elene!" 

156 


Cfjapter  ^fourteen 

"Helena,"  corrected  Miss  Stanton. 

"Ah,  in  my  language  it  is  Elene ;  yes,  Elene  I"  Then 
a  great  hope  took  possession  of  him.  "Some  one  has 
sent  you  to  me  ?"  he  asked.  "Some  one  has  sent  you  ?" 

"Not  exactly,"  she  replied,  "but  you  were  well 
recommended."  The  old  man's  manner,  his  emotion, 
his  earnestness,  somewhat  embarrassed  her.  "Why 
does  he  look  at  me  so  earnestly?"  she  thought.  Per 
haps  it  was  a  mannerism  peculiar  to  a  man  of  his 
years. 

Then  she  went  on:  "I  am  connected  with  mission 
work  in  the  neighbourhood  here.  I  go  among  the 
poor  a  great  deal — " 

"Ah,  charity!"  he  said.  "Yes."  And  then  he  went 
up  to  the  window  and  pulled  up  the  blinds  as  far  as 
they  would  go  that  he  might  get  more  of  the  fast- 
fading  light. 

"I  saw  you  a  few  days  ago  at  Schumein's,  the  music 
publishers,  and  your  name  was  suggested  to  me  by 
one  of  the  young  ladies  at  the  mission  as  music 
master." 

"Ah,  you  desire  to  take  lessons?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

Miss  Stanton  smiled.  "No,  the  child.  Come  here, 
Danny,"  and  the  boy  came  toward  her. 

Von  Earwig  had  seen  no  one  but  her.  The  little 
boy  had  remained  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  where 
the  shadow  of  evening  made  it  too  dark  to  distinguish 
the  outline  of  his  form. 

"Ah,  the  boy?"  he  said  with  a  tone  of  disappoint 
ment  in  his  voice.  "Not  you,  the  boy?  He  needs  irv 
struction?"  Then  he  looked  at  her  again.  It  was 

157 


tc  paster 

too  dark  for  him  to  see  the  colour  of  her  eyes.  He 
went  to  the  door.  "Jenny,"  he  called,  only  he 
pronounced  it  "Chenny" ;  "a  lamp  if  you  please." 

"How  courteous  and  dignified  his  manner  is!" 
thought  Miss  Stanton,  "even  in  the  most  common 
place  and  trivial  details  of  life  a  man's  breeding  shows 
Itself." 

"We  think  the  boy  is  a  genius,"  she  said  aloud, 
"but  his  parents  are  very  poor  and  cannot  afford  to 
pay  for  his  tuition." 

"It  is  a  poor  neighbourhood,"  said  Von  Earwig, 
"but  there  will  be  no  charge.  I  will  teach  him  for — 
for  you !"  He  had  already  forgotten  that  he  had  de 
cided  to  take  no  more  pupils. 

"I  have  taken  charge  of  his  future,"  said  Miss 
Stanton  pointedly;  "and  of  course  shall  defray  all 
the  expense  of  his  tuition  myself.  I  have  the  consent 
of  his  parents " 

Jenny  came  in  with  a  large  lamp  and  placed  it  on 
the  piano.  Von  Earwig  could  now  see  his  visitor's 
face,  and  his  heart  beat  rapidly. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,   forcing  himself  to  be  calm, 

"your  father  and  mother?    Are  they ?" 

,    Miss   Stanton   drew  herself  up   slightly.      "I   am 
speaking  of  his  parents,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  his  parents,  of  course!  Yes,  but  your  father 
— your  mother,"  he  asked  insistently.  "Is  she — is 
she — living?" 

The  deep  earnestness  and  anxiety  with  which  Von 
Earwig  put  this  question  made  it  clear  to  Miss  Stan- 
ton  that  it  was  not  merely  idle  curiosity  that  prompted 


Cfjapter  ^fourteen 

him  to  ask,  so  stifling  her  first  impulse  to  ignore  the 
question  altogether  she  replied  rather  abruptly: 

"No,  she  is  not  living."  Then  she  added  formally, 
"but  that  is  quite  apart  from  the  subject  we  are  dis 
cussing." 

Von  Earwig  did  not  hear  the  latter  part  of  her  an. 
swer.  His  eyes  were  riveted  on  her.  He  could  only 
repeat,  "Dead — dead."  Then  he  looked  at  her  and 
slowly  shook  his  head  in  mournful  tenderness,  repeat 
ing  the  words,  "Dead — dead." 

To  her  own  surprise  Miss  Stanton  did  not  resent  this 
sympathy. 

"I  take  an  especial  interest  in  this  boy  because  his 
sister  is  one  of  the  maids  in  my  father's  home,"  she 
began. 

Von  Earwig's  face  fell.  "Ah,"  he  said,  "you  have 
a  father.  Fool  that  I  am,"  he  went  on.  "Yes,  of 
course;  you  have  a  father,  and  it  is  not " 

At  this  point  Miss  Stanton  made  up  her  mind  that 
Herr  Von  Earwig  did  not  understand  English  quite 
as  well  as  he  spoke  it,  for  she  repeated  rather  sharply 
this  time  that  she  was  discussing  the  boy's  musical  edu 
cation,  not  her  own.  Then  she  added  that  there  re 
mained  only  the  question  of  terms  to  discuss  and  she  ' 
would  detain  him  no  longer. 

Von  Earwig  did  not  hear  her.  He  could  only  mut 
ter  to  himself  in  German,  "A  father,  she  has 
a  father!"  Then  he  told  the  boy  to  call  the  next 
afternoon  and  he  would  hear  him  play.  The  lad 
thanked  him  and  went  home  to  his  parents. 

After  the  boy's  departure,  Miss  Stanton  repeated  her 


request  to  be  allowed  to  discuss  the  terms  for  the 
boy's  tuition;  and  when  the  music  master  made  no 
response  she  said:  "Very  well;  whatever  your  charges 
are  I  will  pay  them." 

"There  will  be  none,"  said  Von  Earwig  de 
cidedly. 

.  "But  I  wish  to  defray  the  entire  expense,"  said  Miss 
Stanton,  greatly  mystified  at  Von  Earwig's  refusal 
to  receive  payment  for  his  work. 

"I  cannot  take  money  from  you,"  he  said. 

"Cannot  take  money  from  me  ?  I  do  not  understand 
you!"  and  Miss  Stanton  arose.  "Please  explain." 
There  was  an  awkward  pause. 

Von  Earwig  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  "I 
like  to  help  all  children,"  he  said  somewhat  lamely. 
"You  are  engaged  in  work  of  charity;  I  do  my  share," 
he  added. 

The  explanation  only  partially  satisfied  her,  and  she 
regarded  him  doubtfully. 

Von  Earwig  realised  now  that  he  had  shown  him 
self  over-anxious.  "I  do  something  for  him,  I  shall 
take  an  interest  in  him,"  he  said,  "because  you  brought 
him  here." 

"What  a  strange  man !"  she  thought  as  she  looked  at 
'him  in  surprise.  "A  poor,  struggling  musician  with 
the  air  and  grace  of  a  nobleman  conferring  a  favour 
on  a  lady  of  his  own  class !"  Then  she  looked  around 
the  studio  with  its  old-fashioned  piano  and  the  stacks 
of  old  music  lying  about  here  and  there ;  a  violin  with 
one  or  two  bows  and  resin  boxes  in  the  corner,  some 
music  stands,  Poons's  'cello  case,  a  broken  metro- 

160 


Chapter  ^fourteen 

norne;  and  on  the  walls  some  cheap  pictures  of  the 
old  musicians.  In  a  fit  of  generosity,  Miss  Husted 
had  bought  them  and  put  them  on  the  walls.  Von 
Earwig  had  not  the  heart  to  remove  them,  although 
cheap  art  did  not  appeal  to  him. 

Miss  Stanton  looked  at  them  now,  and  then  at  him, 
and  a  deep  feeling  of  pity  came  into  her  heart.  "He 
has  so  little,"  she  thought,  uyet  he  is  willing  to  give; 
and  he  gives  with  the  air  of  a  prince  I" 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to — to — "  she  began.  "You 
are  not  rich,  and  yet  you  wish  to  teach  for  nothing. 
Surely  your  time  is — is  valuable " 

"I  have  more  than  I  need,"  he  replied  with  quiet 
dignity. 

The  heiress  to  twenty-five  millions  felt  the  rebuff  and 
she  liked  him  all  the  more  for  it,  but  she  would  not 
accept  his  offer  without  an  effort  to  prevent  the  sacri 
fice. 

"Why  should  you  sacrifice  yourself?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  no  sacrifice  to — ah — please,  please  I  Put  it 
down  to  the  whim  of  an  old  man — what  you  will; 
but  don't  deny  me  this  pleasure !  Don't,  please !" 

His  pleading  look  disarmed  her  and  she  gave  up 
trying  to  dissuade  him. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.     "It  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

She  could  not  help  liking  him,  she  said  to  herself. 
His  manner,  at  first  a  little  embarrassing,  now  inter 
ested  her  strangely.  He  reminded  her  of  a  German 
nobleman  she  had  met  in  Washington  at  the  German 
Embassy.  His  grace,  his  bearing,  his  whole  demean 
our  was  noble  and  dignified  in  the  extreme.  Under 

161 


j!Wu*tc  Jflaster 

ordinary  circumstances,  she  would  have  regarded  his 
offer  to  teach  her  little  charge  for  nothing  as  a  gross 
breach  of  politeness,  but  with  him  she  did  not  feel 
angry  in  the  least. 

"It's  curious,"  she  said,  "I  came  here  with  a  good 
object  in  view;  and  you  calmly  appropriate  my  good 
intentions  and  make  them  your  own,  and  what  is  still 
more  strange  I  allow  you  to  do  so." 

"Ah,  don't  say  that!"  still  the  tearful,  pleading 
voice  that  moved  her  so. 

"Yes,  I  allow  you  to  do  so,"  she  persisted,  and  then 
she  added,  "Do  you  know,  Herr  Earwig,  I  like  you, 
in  spite  of  a  strong  temptation  to  be  very  angry  with 
you  ?" 

She  had  now  moved  around  to  the  piano. 

"You  know,"  she  said  enthusiastically,  "I  love  music 
and  musical  people.  Some  of  the  very  greatest  art 
ists  come  to  my  father's  musicales." 

"My  father,"  the  words  made  Von  Earwig's  heart 
sink.  "My  father!" 

She  sat  down  at  the  piano;  he  raised  the  lamp  and 
looked  into  her  eyes,  and  as  he  stood  there  with  the 
lamp  uplifted  she  looked  into  his  face. 

"Of  whom  do  you  remind  me?"  she  said  quickly. 
"Don't  move " 

There  was  a  deep  silence.  The  old  man  could  hear 
his  heart  beat. 

"Of  whom,  of  whom?"  he  gasped.  "Go  on;  tell 
me!  Try  to  remember!  For  God's  sake  try  to  re 
member!" 

"There,  now,  it's  gone!"  she  said.  "I  can't  think," 

162 


Chapter  fourteen 

she  added  after  a  pause,  greatly  surprised  at  his  look. 
"You  know  somehow  or  other  I  always  feel  at  home 
with  musicians.  What  a  busy  little  studio  this  is," 
she  went  on,  looking  around.  "You're  quite  success 
ful,  aren't  you?" 

Von  Earwig  nodded. 

"It  must  be  very  gratifying  to  earn  a  lot  of  money 
through  your  own  efforts;  not  for  the  mere  money, 
but  for  the  success.  I'm  glad  you're  successful!"  she 
said  with  such  feeling  that  it  surprised  even  herself. 

"Why  ?"  asked  Von  Earwig.    "Why  are  you  glad  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  suppose — "  she  paused.  She  did 
not  like  to  say  it  was  because  she  had  thought  he  was 
very  poor  and  was  delighted  to  find  that  he  was  not; 
so  she  said  it  was  because  of  his  kindness  to  the  boy, 
"and  because  I — I  love  music,"  she  added. 

"You  play?"  he  inquired. 

"A  little." 

"Play  for  me."  The  words  came  almost  unbidden. 
It  was  an  impulse  to  which  he  responded  because  he 
could  not  help  it.  "Play  for  me,"  he  pleaded. 

She  ran  her  hands  idly  over  the  keys.  "I  ought  to 
be  angry,"  she  thought,  "he,  a  mere  music  master,  to 
\  ask  me  to  play  for  him  as  if  he  were  an  equal." 

But  the  gentle  expression  on  the  old  man's  face 
as  he  regarded  her  with  a  tender  smile  was  so  full  of 
hallowed  affection  and  respect  that  she  could  not  utter 
the  words  which  came  to  her  lips.  She  merely  looked 
at  him  and  returned  his  smile  with  one  of  her  own  and 
Heaven  opened  for  the  old  man.  She  began  to  play. 

"You  know  I  play  very  little,"  she  said. 

163 


JHusic 

"I  love  to  hear  music  from  your  fingers,"  was  all  he 
could  say. 

Miss  Stanton  listened  a  moment. 

"What  music  is  that?"    She  heard  the  men  upstairs 
playing.     "It's  very  pretty,"  she  added.     They  both  ^ 
listened  for  a  few  moments.     "It's  really  beautiful!  ' 
Can  I  get  it?     I'd  like  to  know  that  melody." 

"I  make  for  you  a  piano  score.  It's  the  music  they 
played  the  night  that  she,  that  she—  '  his  breath 
came  quickly.  "Lieber  Gott!  Elene;  so  like  Elene, 
so  like!"  he  said,  as  he  gazed  at  her. 

Miss  Stanton  took  off  her  gloves  and  began  to  play. 
She  had  hardly  struck  the  opening  chords  of  a  simple 
pianoforte  piece  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door.  Before  Von  Earwig  could  speak  a  man  entered. 
She  stopped  playing  and  Von  Earwig's  heart  sank 
as  he  recognised  the  collector  for  the  pianoforte 
house. 

"I  am  engaged,  sir.    If  you  please,  another  time !" 

"I've  called  for  the  piano,"  said  the  man,  taking 
some  papers  out  of  his  pocket. 

"Another  time,  for  God's  sake !"  pleaded  Von  Bar- 
wig.  "Please  go  on,  Miss  Stanton." 

"I  want  the  piano  or  the  money,"  said  the  man  auto 
matically. 

"I  have  not — now.     To-morrow  I  will  call." 

"The  money  or  the  piano  is  my  instructions,"  said 
the  collector.  Von  Earwig  stood  as  if  stricken  dumb. 
The  shame,  the  degradation  were  too  great.  He  ap 
pealed  to  the  man  with  outstretched  hands.  Tears 
were  in  his  eyes,  but  the  man  did  not  look  at  him; 

164 


Cfjapter  ^fourteen 

he  went  into  the  hall,  opened  the  front  door,  and 
yelled  out,  "Come  on,  Bill- 
Miss  Stanton  arose  from  the  piano  and  walked  over 
to  the  window.  "It  is  a  very  busy  view  from  here, 
isn't  it?"  she  said;  "gracious,  how  crowded  the 
streets  are!" 

Poor  Von  Earwig's  cup  of  misery  was  now  full. 
She  had  been  a  witness  of  his  poverty.  His  lies  about 
his  success  and  his  pupils  were  all  laid  bare  to  her;  he 
was  disgraced  forever  in  her  eyes.  He  had  lied  to 
her,  and  she  had  found  him  out. 

The  collector  came  back  with  the  men  and  the 
process  of  moving  the  piano  began.  Von  Earwig's 
sense  of  humour  came  to  his  rescue. 

"Thank  heaven  they  are  taking  that  box  of  discords 
away  at  last!  What  a  piano!  Did  you  notice  it, 
Miss  Stanton?" 

Miss  Stanton  had  noticed  it,  and  nodded,  "I  did  in 
deed,"  she  said. 

"Not  one  note  in  harmonious  relationship  with  an 
other,"  went  on  Von  Earwig,  trying  to  smile  as  they 
upset  his  music  on  the  floor.  "Not  a  sharp  or  a  flat 
that  is  on  good  terms  with  his  neighbour." 
}  The  only  reply  the  piano  mover  made  was  to  drop 
one  of  the  piano  legs  heavily  on  the  floor,  making  the 
dust  fly. 

"The  black  and  white  keys  forever  at  war  with  each 
other,"  said  Von  Earwig,  forcing  a  laugh,  in  which 
his  visitor  joined.  Seeing  her  merriment,  Von  Bar- 
wig  began  to  recover  his  spirits.  "The  next  time  you 
call,  Miss  Stanton,"  he  said,  "I  will  have  here  an 


tc  JHasiter 


instrument  that  shall  contain  at  least  a  faint  sugges 
tion  of  music.  In  the  meantime  I  am  most  thankful 
that  I  have  no  longer  to  listen  to  a  piano  that  sounds 
like  a  banjo." 

The  whole  situation  appealed  forcefully  to   Miss' 
Stanton's  sense  of  humour,  and  she  thoroughly  en 
joyed  the  old  man's  jesting.     "If  he  can  rise  above' 
a  condition  like  that,"  she  thought,  "he  must  be  a 
splendid  man."    She  longed  to  comfort,  to  help  him; 
but  how? 

As  the  men  finally  took  out  the  piano,  Von  Earwig 
pretended  to  breathe  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"I'm  glad  it's  gone,"  he  said,  "you  can't  tell  what  a 
relief!"  He  laughed,  but  his  laugh  did  not  deceive 
her;  her  musical  ear  recognised  its  artificiality  in  a 
moment.  She  could  feel  rather  than  see  he  was  suffer 
ing,  and  she  felt  for  him. 

They  were  left  standing  alone  together.  The  room 
looked  quite  empty  without  the  piano  ;  it  was  like  the 
breaking  up  of  a  home.  Neither  of  them  spoke  for 
a  moment,  and  Von  Earwig  could  see  that  she  had 
found  him  out  again. 

"What  an  awful  liarshe  must  think  I  am,"  thoughthe. 

"Poor,  dear  old  man  trying  to  conceal  his  poverty," 
thought  she.  Then  an  idea  came  to  her. 

"I  want  you  to  come  and  see  me,  Herr  Von  Bar- 
wig,"  she  said.  "I  am  going  to  take  up  piano  study 
again,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me.  I  shall  be  at  home 
to-morrow  afternoon  at  three.  Of  course  you  must  be 
very  busy,  but  if  you  have  no  other  engagement  will 
you  call?" 

166 


Chapter  ^fourteen 

"I  will  call,  madam.  I — I  am — not  engaged  at 
that  hour,"  said  Von  Earwig  gratefully,  as  he  bowed 
to  her.  Miss  Stanton  acknowledged  the  bow. 

"You  won't  find  me  a  very  apt  pupil,  but  you'll  take 
me,  won't  you?  Do,  please  take  me!" 

The  old  man  could  not  speak;  too  many  conflicting 
thoughts  were  working  in  his  mind.  "Take  herl 
Good  God — "  The  very  idea  overwhelmed  him. 

"You  will  take  me,  won't  you?"  she  urged  gently. 

He  took  the  card,  and  nodded.  He  dared  not  trust 
himself  to  speak;  he  would  have  broken  down  and  he 
knew  it. 

"Good-bye!"  she  said.  "Good-bye;  it's  getting  so 
late,  I  must  go !"  She  held  out  her  hand.  He  took 
it  and  kissed  it  reverently,  bowing  his  head  as  if  she 
were  a  queen. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  again  at  the  hall  door. 
"Don't  forget!"  she  added,  as  she  waved  her  hand 
from  the  carriage  window.  Joles  slammed  the  door 
shut  and  got  on  the  box,  and  she  was  driven  away. 

The  old  man  watched  the  carriage  until  it  was  out 
of  sight,  returning  to  his  room  in  a  dream.  He 
could  not  realise  or  explain  his  feelings.  He  had  been 
happy,  perfectly  happy;  that  was  all  he  knew.  He 
had  been  at  rest,  contented,  satisfied  for  a  few  brief 
moments,  and  that  glimpse  of  heaven  had  put  new, 
strange  thoughts  into  his  life — thoughts  that  made 
his  blood  pulsate.  He  recognised  that  life  had  taken 
on  a  new  aspect;  how  or  why  he  knew  not.  A  strange 
young  lady  had  called  upon  him,  and  had  left  a  card; 
he  was  to  see  her  again,  and  his  whole  life  was 


changed.  This  was  the  only  point  that  was  clear  to 
him,  that  his  life  had  changed.  How  long  he  sat 
there,  trying  to  think  it  out  and  understand,  he 
knew  not. 

The  old  crack-faced  clock,  with  one  hand,  that 
Miss  Husted  had  put  on  the  mantelpiece,  struck  the 
hour  with  its  old  cracked  bell,  and  it  startled  him. 
He  had  heard  it  hundreds  of  times,  but  now  its  weird, 
metallic  tone  jarred  on  the  harmony  of  his  feelings. 
He  counted  the  strokes ;  five,  six,  seven,  eight.  Eight 
o'clock !  He  started  up,  for  his  dream  had  come  to 
an  end,  and  he  came  back  to  earth  again,  back  into 
the  world  of  Houston  Street,  back  to  the  Bowery,  to 
Costello,  to  the  Museum,  to  his  nightly  labour  for 
his  daily  bread.  Mechanically  he  changed  his  velvet 
jacket  for  his  street  dress,  and  hastily  put  on  his  cape 
coat  and  hat.  "No,  it's  not  a  dream!"  he  told  him 
self,  as  he  read  the  card  she  had  given  him.  "Miss 
Helene  Stanton,  Fifth  Avenue  and  Fifty-seventh 
Street."  He  put  the  card  carefully  in  his  pocket-book 
and  placing  his  violin  case  under  his  arm  started  to 
go  out.  Then  remembering  that  the  lamp  was  still 
burning,  he  went  back  and  carefully  turned  it  out. 

"Fifth  Avenue,  and  Fifty-seventh  Street,"  he  said, 
to  himself;  "to-morrow  at  three,  to-morrow  at 
three." 

He  went  into  the  street  and  the  noise  and  bustle  of 
the  Bowery  jarred  upon  his  sensitive  ear.  "To 
morrow  at  three,"  he  joyfully  sang  to  himself.  "To 
morrow  at  three !"  But  high  above  the  din  and  rattle 
of  traffic  and  street  noises,  high  above  Von  Earwig's 

168 


^fourteen 

song,  rang  out  Costello's  voice  as  if  to  drown  his 
happiness. 

uEat  'em  alive,"  it  said.  "Eat  'em  alive;  eat  'em 
alive!"  Von  Earwig  heard  it;  shuddered,  and  sang 
no  more.  uEat  'em  alive,"  he  muttered  mournfully 
to  himself.  "Eat  'em  alive — eat  'em  alive." 


169 


Cfjapter  fifteen 

ON  EARWIG  arose  at  daybreak,  for  a  great  hope 
had  come  to  him.  At  last  life  held  out  a  prom 
ise  ;  of  what  he  knew  not.  He  only  knew  that  he 
experienced  a  sensation  of  joy,  and  his  great,  loving 
heart  throbbed  in  response.  His  cheerfulness  com 
municated  itself  to  his  friends  upstairs,  for  they  came 
into  his  room  and  insisted  on  his  accompanying  them 
to  breakfast  at  Galazatti's.  They  were  all  in  high 
spirits.  Pinac  and  Fico  were  determined  to  let  him 
see  that  the  loss  of  their  positions  had  not  caused  them 
any  uneasiness. 

"Bah !  we  get  the  engagement  back  again,"  laughed 
Fico. 

Pinac  snapped  his  fingers.  "The  cafe!  Pouf,  pouf, 
pouf!" 

Poons  grinned  amiably.  He  had  been  warned  by 
the  others,  notably  by  Pinac  in  very  bad  German,  not 
to  let  Von  Earwig  see  that  they  felt  down  in  the 
mouth.  He  kept  a  smile  on  his  face  when  he  thought 
•of  it,  and  was  exceedingly  sorrowful  when  he  didn't; 
so  the  expression  on  his  face  altered  from  time  to 
time,  much  to  Von  Earwig's  astonishment.  Once, 
during  breakfast,  Pinac  heard  Poons  sigh  and 
kicked  him  under  the  table,  whereupon  he  immedi 
ately  grinned.  Von  Earwig  saw  this  lightning  change 
and  wondered  what  was  the  matter. 

"Are  you  in  pain?"  he  asked. 

170 


Cftapter  Jfifteen 

"No,"  replied  Poons,  trying  to  smile,  but  only  suc 
ceeding  in  grinning.  Then  he  laughed  with  real  tears 
in  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  laughing  or  crying?"  asked  Von  Earwig. 
"If  you  are  laughing,  please  cry;  and  if  you  are  cry 
ing,  for  heaven's  sake  laugh." 

Poons  nodded.  "I  am  very  happy,"  he  said  tear 
fully,  "so  happy." 

"Then  you  don't  know  how  to  show  it,"  commented 
Von  Earwig ;  whereupon  they  all  laughed  at  him  until 
he  laughed  too,  in  spite  of  himself.  They  joked  all 
through  the  breakfast.  So  noisy  were  they  that  they 
attracted  the  attention  of  Galazatti,  the  proprietor  of 
the  cafe,  who  came  over  to  the  four  friends  and  shook 
hands  with  them.  He  had  served  them  for  many 
years,  and  he  was  glad  to  see  them  enjoy  themselves. 

"How  is  the  good  lady  of  your  house?"  he  asked. 

"Miss  Husted  is  at  the  top  of  the  notch,"  replied 
Pinac,  who  generally  constituted  himself  spokesman 
for  the  party.  "We  are  all  top  of  the  notch,"  he 
added,  "eh,  Poonsie?"  slapping  the  young  man  on 
the  back. 

"What  a  strange  thing  is  this  human  existence!" 
thought  Von  Earwig,  as  he  left  his  friends  and  walked 
back  to  his  studio  alone.  "Here  I  am  in  the  middle 
of  Houston  Street,  giving  music  instructions  for  fifty 
tents  per  lesson,  playing  out  nights  in  a  dime  museum, 
and  yet  my  heart,  my  mind  is  with  this  daughter  of  a 
great  millionaire.  To-day  at  three  I  shall  be  with 
her,  and  I  can  think  of  nothing  else.  What  is  she  to 
me  that  I  should  care  so  much?  A  chance  likeness, 

171 


perhaps  no  likeness  at  all  except  that  which  exists  in 
my  brain!  Am  I  mad?  Is  this  world  of  shadows 
real  ?  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  Who  will  tear  the  veil 
from  this  mystery,  and  tell  me  why  one  human  being 
is  so  much  more  to  us  than  another,  why  one  human 
being  so  resembles  another,  and  yet  is  not  that  one  ?" 

From  time  to  time  he  looked  at  the  clock  wishing 
the  time  would  pass  more  quickly.  He  brushed  his 
clothes  very  carefully  that  morning.  The  frock  coat 
he  had  worn  for  a  dozen  years  now  proved  its  claim 
to  being  made  of  the  finest  texture,  for  it  responded 
splendidly  to  the  brush,  and  gave  up  most  of  its  spots; 
but  it  still  retained  its  shine.  When  he  had  put  on 
a  clean  collar  and  cuffs  and  his  best  white  dress  shirt, 
iVon  Earwig  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass. 

"If  only  this  shine  on  my  coat  were  transferred  to 
my  boots,  what  a  happy  transformation !"  thought 
Von  Earwig.  "Still,  if  that  button  on  my  sleeve  is 
transferred  to  my  coat,  it  will  restore  the  balance  of 
harmony,"  so  Jenny's  services  were  called  into  requisi 
tion. 

"Where  are  you  going  this  morning?"  she  asked  as 
she  stitched  on  the  button. 

"To  a  new  pupil,"  replied  Von  Earwig  as  carelessly 
as  he  could,  though  his  heart  fairly  bumped  as  he 
spoke.  He  did  not  like  to  speak  of  his  visitor  of  yes 
terday  afternoon  to  others.  It  was  too  sacred  a  sub 
ject  to  be  mentioned  in  Houston  Street. 

"The  young  lady  that  came  yesterday?"  inquired 
Jenny,  but  Von  Earwig  made  no  reply.  Jenny  looked 
at  him  closely;  his  silence  chilled  her.  There  was 

172 


Chapter  Jfiftcen 

an  imperceptible  change  in  him,  she  thought.  She 
could  not  say  exactly  what  it  was,  but  it  seemed  to 
her  that  when  his  eyes  rested  on  her  it  was  no  longer 
with  the  same  glance  of  lingering  affection  that  he 
had  always  bestowed  on  her.  Now  he  barely  glanced 
at  her,  and  his  eyes  did  not  rest  on  her  for  a  moment. 
The  girl's  sensitive  nature  made  her  conscious  that 
he  did  not  think  of  her  when  he  spoke  to  her. 

"What's  her  name?"  asked  Jenny,  after  a  long 
pause,  during  which  Von  Earwig  put  on  his  cape  coat. 
Once  more  he  did  not  appear  to  hear  her,  and  Jenny 
repeated  the  question.  "What's  her  name,  Herr  Von 
Earwig?"  This  time  she  spoke  with  directness. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Von  Earwig,  with  un 
conscious  dignity.  It  was  the  old  Leipsic  conductor 
that  spoke,  and  there  was  such  unbending  sternness 
and  severity  in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  such  coldness  in 
his  eye,  that  Jenny  shrank  back  and  looked  at  him 
as  if  he  had  struck  her. 

"Oh,  Herr  Von  Earwig,"  she  gasped,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"Jenny,  Jenny,  my  little  Jenny!  What  is  it,  what 
did  I  say?"  he  asked  in  genuine  distress.  His 
thoughts  had  been  miles  away.  < 

"I  didn't  mean  to  —  to  —  be  —  rude,"  she  sobbed. 
"I — I  only — you  looked  so — so  happy!  I — wanted 
to  know." 

"Come,  come!"  he  said,  taking  her  in  his  arms, 
and  patting  her  affectionately  on  the  cheek.  "Don't 
cry !  I  meant  nothing,  my  child ;  only  I  did  not  want 
to  speak  of  matters  that — that  you  could  not  under- 

173 


stand.  Come,  it  is  two  o'clock,  and  I  must  go,"  and 
he  kissed  her  tenderly  on  the  forehead.  "You  are  all 
right  now,  eh?"  he  said,  as  she  smiled. 

"Forgive  me,  won't  you?"  asked  Jenny,  who  was 
^now  comforted.  He  still  loved  her;  that  was  all  she 
asked. 

As  he  walked  up  Third  Avenue  and  turned  into 
Union  Square,  he  went  into  a  florist's. 

"A  bunch  of  violets,  please,"  he  said,  and  the  young 
man  tied  up  a  very  small  quantity  of  violets  with  a 
very  large  silk  tassel  and  a  lot  of  green  leaves,  tin 
foil,  oil  paper  and  wire ;  putting  the  whole  into  a  box, 
which  he  carefully  tied  up  with  more  ribbon. 

"What  a  ceremony  over  a  few  violets!"  thought 
Von  Earwig,  as  he  laid  a  twenty-five  cent  piece  on  the 
counter. 

"One  dollar,  please,"  said  the  young  man,  survey 
ing  the  quarter  with  a  somewhat  pitying  smile. 

Von  Earwig's  heart  sank.  He  had  forgotten  that 
it  was  winter,  that  flowers  were  expensive,  that  col 
oured  cardboard  and  tin  foil  and  ribbon  cost  money, 
too.  He  searched  his  pockets  and  found  the  neces 
sary  dollar,  but  it  was  within  a  few  cents  of  all  he 
had.  "They  are  not  too  good  for  her,"  thought  Von 
Earwig  as  he  carried  the  box  away.  He  walked  up 
'Broadway  into  Fifth  Avenue,  and  stopped  at  the 
corner  of  Fifty-seventh  Street.  The  number  he 
sought  was  inscribed  on  the  door  of  a  large  brown- 
stone  mansion  with  a  most  imposing  entrance,  one  of 
those  palatial  residences  that  cover  the  space  of  four 
ordinary  houses  and  stamp  its  owner  as  a  multU 

174 


Chapter  Jftfteen 

millionaire.  As  he  nervously  pulled  the  bell,  he  up 
braided  himself  for  having  dared  to  think  that  she 
was  like  his  child.  It  was  a  trick  of  the  fading  light, 
an  optical  illusion.  His  reflection  was  cut  short,  for 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  man-servant. 

"Have  you  a  card?"  inquired  the  footman,  as  Von 
Barwig  asked  for  Miss  Stanton. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"Herr  Von  Barwig  is  the  name;  I  have  an  appoint 
ment." 

"You  can  wait  in  there;  I'll  see  if  Miss  Stanton  is 
in,"  said  the  flunky,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel.  Such 
nondescript  visitors  were  most  unusual. 

"An  old  person  without  a  card,  Mr.  Joles,"  he  con 
fided  to  that  individual  below  stairs;  "name  Barkwick 
or  something,  says  he  has  an  appointment.  Quite 
genteel,  but — "  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  sig 
nificantly. 

Joles  made  no  reply,  but  went  up  to  inter 
view  Mr.  "Barkwick."  The  Stantons  had  so  many 
applications  from  persons  who  needed  charity  for 
themselves  or  others  that  the  standing  order  had  gone 
forth  to  admit  no  stranger,  under  any  pretext,  unless 
of  course  he  had  complete  credentials. 

Herr  Von  Barwig  was  standing  in  the  reception- 
room,  hat  in  hand,  when  Joles  entered. 

"No  card,  eh?  Ah — um — dear  me,"  and  Mr.  Joles 
rubbed  his  chin  in  a  perplexed  way.  He  looked 
around,  none  of  the  pictures  were  missing,  nor  had 
the  statuary  been  removed.  But  Denning  shouldn't 
have  asked  the  stranger  into  the  reception-room. 


Von  Earwig  ventured  to  say  that  he  had  an  ap 
pointment.  Mr.  Joles  nodded. 

"Oh,  you  have  an  appointment  I    Written  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Von  Earwig. 

"Oh,   verbal?     At  what   hour?"   questioned   Mr0 
Joles. 
1    "Three,"  answered  Von  Earwig. 

"Are  you  quite  sure?"  inquired  Mr.  Joles  doubt 
fully.  "I  have  received  no  orders." 

Von  Earwig  remained  silent.  What  could  he  say? 
The  man  evidently  doubted  his  word. 

"If  you  will  please  tell  her,"  he  said  gently. 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  Miss  Stanton  is  in,"  said 
Mr.  Joles,  and  he  stood  there  as  if  in  doubt  as  to 
how  to  proceed.  But  any  further  question  as  to  Miss 
Stanton's  being  in  or  out  was  settled  by  the  young 
lady  herself,  who  dashed  into  the  room  in  evident 
haste. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Herr  Von  Earwig;  I  forgot  to 
leave  word  that  you  were  coming!  Forgive  me, 
won't  you  ?"  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  in  such 
a  friendly  manner  that  it  drew  from  the  servant  a 
faint  apology. 
>  "I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  he  began. 

"It's  all  right,  Joles,"  said  Miss  Stanton,  cutting  him 
rather  short.  She  evidently  did  not  value  that  gentle 
man's  explanations  very  highly,  and  took  it  for 
granted  that  Herr  Von  Earwig  didn't  care  to  hear 
them.  Joles  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

"Well!  I'm  right  glad  to  see  you.  It's  a  long 
way  up  town,  isn't  it?" 


Chapter  Jftfteen 

Von  Earwig  nodded.  He  could  not  speak;  he 
could  only  look  at  her. 

"For  me?"  she  asked  as  he  held  out  the  bor?  of 
violets.  "Oh,  how  kind,  how  thoughtful!"  she  mur 
mured,  as  he  bowed  in  response  to  her  question.  She 
opened  the  box.  "Violets  in  winter  are  a  luxury,  you 
know!" 

Von  Barwfg  smiled  with  pleasure;  he  was  almost 
too  happy. 

"I  congratulate  myself  on  having  pleased  you,"  he 
managed  to  say. 

"Now  do  sit  down  and  talk  to  me !"  she  said,  placing 
a  chair  for  him  and  almost  pushing  him  into  it.  He 
looked  rather  perplexed. 

"I  thought,"  he  began. 

"You  surely  didn't  expect  me  to  take  a  lesson  to-day, 
did  you  ?"  she  said,  and  then  she  went  on :  "Oh  dear 
me,  no ;  not  to-day !  To-morrow.  Besides,  my  music 
room  is  upstairs;  this  is  not  my  part  of  the  house  at 
all.  How  about  the  little  boy  ?  When  does  he  begin  ? 
Do  you  think  he  has  talent?" 

Von  Earwig  looked  bewildered.  He  had  not  only 
forgotten  the  appointment  he  had  made  with  the  boy 
to  hear  him  play,  but  he  had  forgotten  his  very 
existence. 

"I — it  is  not  settled,"  he  faltered.  "To-morrow 
perhaps.  Yes,  to-morrow,  he  will  call  and  then  I  will 
let  you  know." 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  were  to  hear  him  to-day!  I 
was  rather  anxious  to  know  what  you  thought." 

Von  Earwig  felt  quite  guilty. 

177 


;4Slusic 

"Do  you  know  IVe  been  thinking  of  you  quite  a 
great  deal,"  she  said. 

"You  are  too  kind,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice. 

Miss  Stanton  was  evidently  in  a  very  communica 
tive  frame  of  mind,  for  from  that  moment  she  talked 
rapidly  on  current  musical  topics.  She  knew  the  lat 
est  operas,  and  loved  the  spirit  of  unrest,  the  unset 
tled  minor  chords  of  the  new  school  of  music;  pre 
ferred  the  leit  motif  to  the  aria,  music  drama  to  opera, 
and  was  altogether  exceedingly  modern  in  her  tastes. 
She  did  not  like  recitative  in  music,  and  preferred 
Wagner  and  Tschaikowsky  to  Bach  and  Verdi.  She 
loved  to  be  stirred  up,  she  said.  She  liked  Beethoven, 
yes,  but  he  was  too  mathematical.  As  for  Handel,  he 
was  uninteresting  in  the  extreme ;  and  so  she  went  on 
and  on. 

The  old  man  could  only  gaze  at  her  in  silence. 
There  she  sat,  the  living  image  of  his  dead  wife,  talk 
ing  musical  matters  in  a  foreign  tongue;  an  absolute 
stranger  to  him,  and  yet  he  felt  drawn  toward  her  in 
a  strange  and  unusual  way.  Who  was  she?  What 
was  she?  Had  the  dead  come  to  life?  What  had 
happened?  He  could  only  look  at  her,  and  feel  so 
very,  very  happy.  What  did  it  all  mean? 

"How  is  your  father?"  he  asked  when  there  was  a 
lull  in  the  conversation,  brought  about  by  Miss  Stan- 
ton's  pausing  to  breathe. 

Her  face  fell.  "He  is  in  Europe,"  she  said,  and 
did  not  continue  the  subject. 

Von  Barwig  noticed  that  her  face  saddened  when 
she  spoke  of  her  father's  absence. 


Chapter  Jfifteen 

"She  must  love  him  very  much,"  he  thought,  and 
the  thought  brought  him  to  his  senses. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Earwig,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"Her  father  is  a  multi-millionaire,  one  of  the  great 
men  of  the  country.  Her  mother  is  dead,  and  you 
must  content  yourself  with  having  dreamed  that  she 
was  yours.  You  must  not  look  at  her,  you  under 
stand?  Don't  look  at  her,  or  she  will  suspect  what 
you  think  and  you  will  be  turned  away.  You  have 
had  your  dream.  Now  wake  up,  wake  up !" 

It  was  time  for  him  to  awaken,  for  she  was  asking 
him  if  he  thought  that  musical  genius  was  allied  to 
madness. 

"I— I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "I  am  not  a 
genius !" 

"Will  you  play  for  me?"  he  said,  to  hide  his  con 
fusion. 

"Not  now,"  she  replied.  "I  have  an  engagement. 
Come  to-morrow  at  this  hour.  I'll  leave  word  this 
time,"  she  added  with  a  smile.  "Mr.  Stanton  is  so 
particular  about  callers  that  no  one  can  get  near  him 
without  being  personally  guaranteed  by  Joles  or  Mr. 
Ditson." 

"You  haven't  seen  Mr.  Ditson,  have  you?  He 
is  father's  secretary.  I  don't  like  him,  and  I'm  so 
sorry.  I  can't  bear  not  to  like  any  one,"  and  she 
sighed. 

Von  Earwig  was  looking  at  her  again;  in  spite  of 
himself  he  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  her. 

"Of  what  were  you  thinking  when  you  looked  at  me 
in  that  way?"  she  asked,  with  a  curious  smile. 

179 


tc  JWaster 

"I — I — don't  know,"  said  Von  Earwig,  rather 
startled,  and  this  was  literally  true. 

"You're  thinking  that  I  am  a  great  rattle-box,  aren't 
you  ?  Now,  confess !  I  am  talking  a  great  deal,  am 
I  not?  But  I  can't  seem  to  help  itl  I'm  not  always 
like  this;  indeed  I'm  not,"  she  said  earnestly.  "It's  a 
positive  luxury  to  utter  the  first  thought  that  comes 
into  one's  mind — a  luxury  I  seldom  get,  I  can  tell 
you !  Somehow  or  other  you  drew  me  out,  and  I 
allowed  myself  to  ramble  on  and  on  without  in  the 
least  knowing  why.  Can  you  explain  it?"  she  asked 
laughingly. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Perhaps  you  feel  that  I  am 
interested  in  you,  if  you  will  pardon  the  liberty  I  take 
in  saying  so." 

"Very  likely,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  There  was  a 
long  pause,  for  they  were  so  occupied  with  their 
own  thoughts  that  neither  spoke.  The  reaction 
had  set  in,  and  she  was  now  strangely  quiet;  indeed 
she  hardly  spoke  again  that  afternoon.  After  a  while 
Von  Earwig  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"Have  I  offended  her?"  he  asked  himself,  as  he  left 
the  house.  "How  dare  I  tell  her  that  I  am  interested 
in  her!  What  impertinence,  what  a  liberty!  Who 
am  I  that  I  should  dare  to  say  such  a  thing !  You  old 
fool !"  he  now  addressed  himself  directly.  "You  have 
happiness  well  within  your  grasp,  and  instead  of  gently 
taking  it  to  yourself  you  grab  it  with  both  hands  and 
pluck  it  up  by  the  roots.  You  have  offended  her  and 
she  won't  see  you  again.  You'll  see,  you  won't  be 
admitted  to  the  house !"  The  old  man  almost  cried  as 

180 


Chapter  Jfifteen 

he  thought  of  his  temerity,  his  folly,  his  stupidity. 
He  walked  faster  and  faster  in  his  excitement.  "I 
must  curb  my  unfortunate  tongue;  I  must,  I  will,  if 
I  ever  get  another  chance!"  He  sighed  deeply. 
"And  yet — why  should  she  press  my  hand  and  ask  me 
to  come  to-morrow  and  be  sure  not  to  forget  the  hour? 
She  has  forgiven  me,  yes,  yes,  she  likes  me;  I  know 
she  does,  but  I  must  be  careful!"  And  so  he  walked 
rapidly  home  to  his  lodgings,  alternately  in  a  heaven 
of  joy  or  in  a  hell  of  despair. 


IS*. 


Chapter  Sixteen 

HAT  a  strange  old  man,"  mused  Helene, 
as  she  sat  in  a  box  that  night  at  the  Acad 
emy  of  Music  and  listened  to  an  aria  from 
"William  Tell."  "Why  do  I  think  of  him  so  con 
stantly?" 

"My  dear  Helene,  you  are  not  a  very  attentive  host 
ess,"  said  Charlotte  Wendall,  a  tall  brunette.  It  was 
after  the  curtain  had  fallen  on  the  act,  and  the  box 
was  filled  up  with  visitors.  There  was  always  a  crowd 
in  the  Stanton  box  on  the  grand  tier  when  Helene 
Stanton  was  present. 

"My  cousin  Beverly  has  spoken  to  you  twice,  and 
you  have  not  even  intimated  that  you  are  aware  of 
his  presence." 

Charlotte  Wendall,  as  a  classmate  of  Helene's  at 
Vassar,  took  a  school  friend's  privilege  of  saying 
just  what  she  thought.  Besides,  Helene  was  fond  of 
her,  and  permitted  her  to  say  what  she  pleased. 

"Won't  you  speak  to  me?"  pleaded  Beverly.  "I  do 
so  want  to  be  noticed !  I'll  be  satisfied  with  a  glance 
in  my  direction." 

Beverly  Cruger  had  recently  finished  a  post-gradu 
ate  course  at  Harvard  and  was  just  budding  into  the 
diplomatic  service.  He  was  a  fine  manly  looking  chap 
of  twenty-seven,  and  as  he  looked  down  into  Helene 
Stanton's  face,  his  pleading  eyes  attested  to  the  fact 
that  he  was  more  than  merely  interested  in  her. 

182 


Chapter  Sixteen 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Helene,  shaking  hands 
with  him  warmly. 

"Helene  is  very  pensive  to-night.  I  can't  make  her 
out,"  interposed  Octavie,  a  pretty  little  blonde  sprite, 
and  a  perfect  antithesis  to  her  sister  Charlotte.  ''She 
is  thinking  of  some  one  who  is  not  here." 

"Quite  true,"  nodded  Helene,  smiling. 

"Happy  fellow,"  murmured  Beverly. 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Helene,  who  had  sharp 
ears.  "The  fellow  I  am  thinking  about  is  very  un 
happy." 

"Ah,  one  of  those  sad  affairs,  with  languishing  eyes, 
who  simpers  and  sighs !"  said  Charlotte  laughingly, 
bursting  into  what  she  called  poetry. 

Helene  smiled  a  little.  "You'd  never  guess,"  she 
said  thoughtfully.  Then,  after  a  pause,  "I  am  think 
ing  of  a  musician,  a  music  master  who  lives  down 
town  in  one  of  the  little  side  streets  of  our  crowded 
city.  He  is  an  artist  and  a  gentleman,  who  has  in  all 
probability  devoted  the  best  years  of  his  life  to  his 
music;  and  he  has  made  a  failure  of  it." 

"Did  he  tell  you  his  story?"  asked  Beverly,  slightly 
interested. 

Helene  shook  her  head.  "He  told  me  he  was  a 
great  success,  a  flourishing  artist,  a  rich  man  (in  her 
enthusiasm  Helene  exaggerated  slightly),  and  not 
three  minutes  afterward  the  very  piano  on  which  he 
made  his  living  was  taken  away  from  him  because  he 
had  not  sufficient  money  to  pay  for  its  hire.  It  was 
the  most  pitiful  thing  I  ever  saw;  I  simply  can't  for 
get  it!" 

183 


"Poor  chap  !  Cant  we  do  anything  for  him?"  asked 
Beverly,  now  thoroughly  interested. 

"He  is  very  proud.  I  took  one  of  our  mission  boys 
there,  a  lad  who  has  great  talent  for  music,  and  this 
strange  individual  refused  to  take  any  compensation 
for  teaching  him.  He  insisted  on  taking  him  for 
nothing,  and  said  he  loved  children." 

"I  should  say  he  was  a  strange  individual,"  com 
mented  Beverly.  "He  ought  to  feel  highly  flattered 
at  the  interest  you  are  taking  in  him." 

"You  want  to  look  out  for  these  distingue  foreigners, 
Helene!  You're  an  heiress,  you  know,"  said  Octavie, 
who  was  an  omnivorous  newspaper  reader. 

"Yes,"  said  Helene,  and  then  she  was  silent.  Bev 
erly  Cruger  looked  at  her.  Her  face,  usually  happy 
and  smiling,  was  sad  and  thoughtful. 

"This  stranger  has  made  quite  an  impression  on 
her,"  he  thought.  "What  is  his  name?"  he  asked,  a 
strange  sense  of  annoyance  creeping  over  him  in  spite 
of  himself. 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,"  replied  Helene. 

"Oh,  a  nobleman,"  broke  in  the  irrepressible  Oc 
tavie,  who  read  novels  as  well  as  the  newspapers;  "a 
German  nobleman !  It  is  a  romance,  isn't  it  ?  Is  he 
a  count,  or  a  baron;  or  a — prince,  perhaps?" 

"He  didn't  tell  me,"  replied  Helene,  who  could  not 
help  smiling  at  the  curiosity  she  had  aroused.  They 
were  all  looking  at  her  very  anxiously  now,  even  Mrs. 
Van  Arsdale,  the  girls'  chaperone,  was  interested. 

"He  didn't  tell  me,"  repeated  Helene;  "really  he 
didn't." 

184 


Chapter  Sixteen 

"Oh,  well,  he  will !"  said  Beverly,  forcing  a  smile. 
He  did  not  like  to  admit  to  himself  that  he  was  not 
exactly  enjoying  Helene's  romance. 

"I  am  going  to  see  him  to-morrow,  and  I'll  make 
it  a  point  to  ask  him,"  said  Helene,  with  a  mis 
chievous  twinkle  in  her  eye.  She  rather  enjoyed  Bev 
erly's  obvious  consternation. 

uTo-morrow?  You  see  him  to-morrow?"  asked 
Beverly,  and  his  heart  sank.  The  lights  were  lowered 
and  the  next  act  had  begun  before  she  could  make  any 
reply,  and  then  it  was  too  late.  He  had  known  her 
only  a  few  months,  but  in  that  brief  time  he  had  seen 
a  great  deal  of  her.  He  loved  her;  of  that  he  was 
quite  sure.  It  was  her  immense  wealth  that  prevented 
him  from  asking  her  to  be  his  wife.  But  for  that  he 
would  have  spoken  a  score  of  times. 

"Where  were  you?"  asked  his  mother  as  he  returned 
to  his  seat  beside  her  in  the  stall. 

"In  box  39,"  he  replied. 

"Mr.  Stanton's  box?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Beverly.  "I  wanted  to  see  Charlotte 
and  Octavie." 

"And  Miss  Stanton?"  added  his  mother.  Beverly 
made  no  reply. 

"You  were  at  her  house  yesterday,"  said  Mrs. 
Cruger. 

"Yes." 

"Beverly,  you  must  be  careful !  Your  father  ob 
jects  to  Miss  Stanton." 

"Objects  to  her  friendship  for  my  cousins?" 

"No,  to  your  friendship  for  her,"  replied  his  mother. 

185. 


"You  have  already  shown  her  marked  attention.  She 
is  a  very  beautiful  girl,  and  he  is  afraid  that  the  in 
timacy  may  ripen  into  something  more  than  mere 
friendship." 

Beverly  was  unusually  silent  during  the  progress 
of  the  opera,  and  when  they  arrived  home  he  went 
straight  to  his  father's  study. 

Andrew  Cruger  occupied  a  position  of  leadership 
in  New  York  society  that  practically  made  his  posi 
tion  unassailable.  He  was  not  a  rich  man,  but  he 
was  the  most  highly  respected  diplomat  in  America; 
a  scholarly  gentleman,  the  friend  of  kings  and  presi 
dents.  He  had  been  of  the  greatest  possible  assist 
ance  to  the  secretaries  of  state  of  both  parties  in 
solving  international  problems.  The  respect  of  the 
entire  world  was  his  and  he  was  far  more  solici 
tous  about  his  good  name  than  about  his  financial 

"What  is  your  objection  to  Miss  Stanton,  father?" 
demanded  Beverly  in  a  somewhat  excited  manner. 

"I  have  no  objection  to  her,  my  boy,"  replied  his 
father.  Then,  seeing  that  his  son  was  terribly  in 
earnest,  he  said  in  a  more  serious  tone,  "There  is  some 
question  as  to  her  father's  social  integrity." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  Miss  Stanton?"  asked 
Beverly. 

"Nothing,  my  boy.  And  may  I  ask,  what  has  the 
entire  question  to  do  with  us?" 

"I  love  her,  father.    I  want  to  make  her  my  wife." 

Andrew  Cruger  put  down  the  pen  with  which  he 
was  writing  and  looked  at  his  son. 

"That's  very  serious,"  he  said,  and  walking  over  to 

186 


the  fireplace  he  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece.  "You 
are  slated  by  the  incoming  administration  for  one  of 
the  under  secretaryships  of  the  German  Legation. 
You  are  on  the  threshold  of  a  great  career.  A  mar 
riage  with  Henry  Stanton's  daughter  would  .not  affect 
you  at  this  stage,  but  when  you  rise  to  the  dignity  of 
ambassadorial  honour,  as  in  the  course  of  events  you 
logically  will,  your  wife,  my  lad,  must  be  beyond  the 
breath  of  calumny.  No  scandal,  no  mystery  must  at 
tach  itself  to  her  name." 

"What's  there  against  Miss  Stanton,  father?  Won't 
you  tell  me?"  asked  Beverly. 

"Nothing  against  her!  Henry  Stanton's  early  life 
is  shrouded  in  mystery.  He  inherited  his  immense 
fortune  from  his  uncle.  Who  her  mother  was,  no 
one  seems  to  know,  and  there  lies  the  mystery.  Mr. 
Stanton's  immense  works  of  charity  have  succeeded  to 
some  extent  in  getting  him  a  foothold  in  New  York, 
but  the  foundation  of  his  social  position  is  very  inse 
cure.  I  need  scarcely  tell  you,  Beverly,  that  although 
money  is  a  lever  that  can  do  much  to  help  a  man  along 
in  society,  it  is  almost  utterly  valueless  in  the  diplo 
matic  world.  In  that  smallest  of  small  worlds  one's 
name,  one's  record,  one's  wife,  one's  family  must  be; 
almost  immaculate,  subject  to  the  most  minute  scru 
tiny.  You  are  in  the  diplomatic  world;  your  name 
will  pass  muster.  But  what  of  the  woman  you  pro 
pose  to  make  your  wife?" 

Beverly  was  silent.  He  had  hitherto  heard  nothing 
against  Henry  Stanton,  much  less  against  his  daugh 
ter. 

187 


j&lusic  Jflasrter 

"It  will  make  no  difference  to  me,"  he  said  firmly. 
"I  love  her,  and,  father,  in  saying  this  I  mean  no  dis 
respect  to  your  authority,  but,  if  she  will  accept  me, 
I  intend  to  marry  her." 

Andrew  Cruger  made  no  answer.  He  merely  low 
ered  his  head  and  looked  at  his  son. 

"When?"  he  asked  briefly. 

"I  have  not  spoken  to  her  yet,"  said  Beverly. 

Old  Cruger  looked  at  him  quizzically. 

"Perhaps  I've  been  a  little  premature,"  suggested 
Beverly.  The  elder  Cruger  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"That  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  American  youth," 
he  said,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"I  should  never  think  of  settling  the  question  of 
dates,  or  of  doing  anything  final  until  I  had  consulted 
you  and  my  mother.  Nor  would  I  speak  to  her  with 
out  first  asking  your  consent,"  he  added,  to  please  his 
father. 

Andrew  Cruger  smiled  once  more.  "Suppose  I  re 
fuse  my  consent?"  he  asked. 

"Well,"  Beverly  hesitated. 

"You'll  marry  her  without  it?  Of  course  you  will! 
That's  if  she'll  have  you,  my  boy.  The  authority  of 
parents  is  only  nominal;  therefore  I  content  myself 
with  warning  you  that  you  may  ruin  your  career  by 
such  a  marriage." 

"I'll  risk  it,"  said  Beverly. 

"In  other  words  you  will  give  up  your  career?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Beverly. 

"Quite  so,"  agreed  old  Cruger.  "But  if  you  are 
too  willing  to  take  the  risk,  too  indifferent  as  to  your 

188 


future,  the  world,  our  world,  which  after  all  is  the 
only  world,  may  say  that  your  wife's  fortune  made 
it  unnecessary  for  you  to  bother  about  a  career  or 
even  about  having  to  earn  your  own  living." 

Beverly  looked  indignant. 

"You  know  the  world,  particularly  our  section  of  it, 
has  rather  an  unpleasant  way  of  putting  things.  I 
should  not  like  to  have  a  son  of  mine  accused  of  such 
motives  even  though  I  knew  it  to  be  untrue." 

Beverly  was  silent.  He  dimly  saw  that  his  father 
was  right. 

"Think  it  over,"  suggested  old  Cruger. 

"Have  I  your  consent?"  asked  Beverly. 

"Don't  put  me  in  the  position  of  being  compelled 
to  say,  'Bless  you,  my  child,'  after  I  have  damned  you 
for  disobedience,"  said  the  elder  Cruger  laughingly. 
"Be  quite  sure,  my  boy,  that  I  shall  adapt  myself  to 
conditions.  If  I  say  'yes,'  it  is  because  I  know  you 
will  do  as  you  please  in  any  event,  and  I  don't 
want  to  cloud  your  happiness  by  interposing  useless 
objections.  I  merely  warn  you!  Good-night, 
Beverly." 

"Good-night,  father."  Beverly  left  the  room  and 
the  elder  Cruger  returned  to  his  work. 

It  was  about  five  minutes  before  three  the  next  after-' 
noon  when  Anton  Von  Earwig's  card  was  brought  up 
to  Helene's  room  by  Joles.  Herr  Von  Barwig 
had  evidently  taken  the  precaution  to  have  his  name 
printed  on  a  piece  of  pasteboard,  so  as  not  to  offend 
Joles's  delicate  sense  of  propriety. 

189 


"Will  you  see  him,  miss?"  asked  the  man 
servant;  glancing  at  the  cardboard  somewhat  sus 
piciously. 

"Ask  him  up  at  once,  please,"  said  Miss  Stanton,  in 
such  a  decided  tone  that  Joles  hastened  to  obey  her 
orders. 

Helene  was  perplexed;  she  had  been  thinking  all  the 
morning  of  the  false  position  she  found  herself  in. 
She  had  told  the  old  music  master  that  she  could  not 
play  at  all,  or  could  only  play  a  little,  and  that  she 
wanted  to  take  piano  lessons.  At  the  very  outset  he 
would  discover  that  she  was  quite  a  good  amateur 
pianoforte  player,  with  a  fine  musical  ear,  and  then 
he  would  see  through  her  ruse  and  refuse  to  teach 
her.  She  felt  that  he  would  see  her  pretences  were 
only  for  the  purpose  of  getting  him  to  give  her  les 
sons  and  she  was  afraid  that  he  would  be  very  much 
offended. 

"After  all,  what  does  it  matter?"  she  asked  herself; 
and  the  answer  came  quickly,  "It  does  matter."  The 
more  she  thought  of  this  the  more  perplexed  she  be 
came.  Why  should  she  care  one  way  or  the  other? 
Who  was  this  man  that  she  should  consider  his  feel 
ings  toward  her?  The  whole  thing  was  ridiculous! 
Yet  Von  Earwig  made  an  irresistible  appeal  to  her, 
and  she  felt  that  she  must  rest  contented  with  the 
fact  as  it  was,  without  seeking  to  know  how  or  why. 
One  point,  however,  stood  out  very  clearly:  Beverly 
Cruger  had  been  obviously  jealous  last  night  at  the 
opera.  Octavie's  silly  prattle  about  a  young  and 
handsome  foreign  nobleman  had  had  a  marked  ef- 

190 


Sixteen 

feet  upon  him,  and  Helena's  heart  beat  slightly  faster 
as  she  pondered  over  this  phase  of  the  matter. 

"He's  actually  jealous,"  she  thought,  and  she  en 
joyed  the  idea.  Beverly's  earnest  manliness  made 
her  admire  him  greatly.  It  almost  reconciled  her  to 
Octavie's  silliness !  He  was  so  different  from  the 
swarm  of  social  bees  who  sipped  only  the  sweets  of 
pleasure.  He  was  a  worker,  a  sincere  worker,  and 
his  promised  appointment  to  the  diplomatic  service, 
notwithstanding  his  youth,  attested  the  fact  that  he 
was  unusual.  "He  takes  an  interest  in  his  country's 
welfare,"  thought  Helene,  "and  does  not  ignore  it 
as  does  the  world  in  which  he  lives  and  moves.  He 
is  a  patriot;  he  loves  his  country.  He  is  unselfish, 
too.  A  good-looking  society  man  who  is  unselfish, 
what  an  anomaly!"  Helene  felt  rather  grateful  to 
the  innocent  cause  of  Beverly  Cruger's  jealousy,  and 
when  he  entered  the  room  she  greeted  him  with  a 
beaming  smile. 

"I  am  so  pleased  to  see  you,"  she  said  unaffectedly. 

Von  Barwig  had  a  little  paper  parcel  in  his  hand. 
He  carefully  removed  the  paper,  putting  it  in  his 
pocket,  and  then  held  out  a  very  tiny  bunch  of  violets. 

"You  are  spoiling  me,"  declared  Helene,  as  she  took 
them  from  him.  She  had  a  large  bouquet  of  orchids 
in  her  corsage,  which  she  quickly  removed,  and  placed 
the  violets  there  instead. 

"I  think  violets  are  far  prettier  than  orchids,"  she 
said. 

Von  Barwig  looked  rather  dubious.  He  was  pleased, 
but  he  doubted. 

191 


"Do  sit  down!"  she  said,  and  he  went  toward  the 
piano.  uNot  at  the  piano;  here,"  said  Helene,  seat 
ing  him  beside  her.  "Now,  listen  to  me,  sir!  You 
must  not  bring  me  expensive  flowers  every  time  you 
call." 

"They  are  not  expensive,"  said  Von  Earwig  with 
a  smile.  "It  is  the  box  and  the  ribbon  that  costs. 
You  may  have  observed  that  I  avoided  them  on  this 


occasion." 


"Well,  what  shall  we  talk  about?"  asked  Helene, 
after  a  pause. 

"Talk  about?"  repeated  Von  Earwig,  slightly  per 
plexed.  "Our  music  lesson !" 

"Oh,  I  don't  feel  like  taking  a  lesson  to-day,"  said 
Helene.  "I  want  to  talk." 

"Yes,  but  I — it  is  I  who  must  talk,  if  I  am  to  teach," 
faltered  Von  Earwig  in  a  low  voice.  He  didn't  want 
to  go  too  far,  for  he  had  heard  that  American  heir 
esses  were  capricious  and  whimsical  and  that  they 
took  likes  and  dislikes  very  suddenly.  He  did  not 
want  her  to  dislike  him,  so  he  would  humour  her; 
but  he  also  wanted  to  teach  her. 

"You  know,"  she  said  confidentially,  "I  think  I  have 
a  rather  discontented  nature.  Certain  people  have  a 
horrible  effect  on  me.  I  want  to  run  about,  play,  sing, 
read,  quarrel,  do  anything  rather  than  talk  to  them. 
But  you,  how  I  like  to  talk  to  you !  You  have  a  sort 
of  a — what  shall  I  call  it — an  all-pervading  calmness, 
that  communicates  itself  to  me,  and  soothes  my  ruffled 
feelings.  I  don't  seem  to  feel  in  a  hurry  when  you're 
here.  And  when  you  smile,  as  you're  smiling  now, 

iq2 


Cfjapter  HMxteen 

I  don't  know  why,  but  I  feel  just  happy,  and  contented 
with  myself.  Do  you  understand  what  I  mean?" 
The  girl  had  a  far-away  expression  in  her  eyes,  as 
if  she  were  day-dreaming.  The  old  man  regarded 
,her  with  a  smile. 

4 'You  are  trying  to  put  me  at  my  ease,"  he  said  fi- 
-nally,  uand  you  have  succeeded,  but  we  make  no 
progress  at  our  music." 

"What  music  have  you  brought?"  she  asked. 

"I  cannot  tell  what  books  you  will  need  until  I  hear 
you,"  he  replied. 

"You'd  better  get  me  Bach's  studies,"  she  said  care 
lessly. 

"Won't  you  play?"  he  asked,  "and  then  I  can 
judge." 

"Not  now,"  replied  Helene,  and  then  she  went  on 
again,  telling  him  of  herself,  her  life,  her  aims 
and  ambitions,  her  predilections  and  prejudices. 
She  seldom  referred  to  her  father,  and  mentioned 
her  mother  only  occasionally.  "How  I  do  ramble 
on,  don't  I?  I  seem  to  have  known  you  for 
,  years." 

"You  are  very  happy,  are  you  not?"  he  asked. 
„  "Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so !"  she  replied.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  tinge  of  sadness  in  her  manner,  a  sort  of  men 
tal  reservation  as  to  her  happiness  that  she  did  not 
like  to  confess  even  to  herself.  "Yes,  I  think  I  am," 
she  said  finally. 

"Why  not?"  he  answered.  "Here  all  is  peaceful, 
beautiful  and  harmonious.  What  surroundings  you 
have!"  and  he  looked  around,  "beautiful  art  objects 

193 


to  look  at,  the  beautiful  park  at  your  very  window* 
Here  ail  is  beauty,  joy,  peace,  without  and  within. 
Your  architect  was  a  fine  artist,  or  is  it  your  own, 
taste  —  all  this?" 

Helene  nodded.  "I  designed  this  part  of  the  house 
myself,"  she  replied.  "The  tapestry  and  pictures 
and  statuary  of  course  add  greatly  to  its  general  ap 
pearance,  but  you  are  quite  right  —  the  architect  was 


an  artist." 
" 


He  must  have  been,"  commented  Von  Earwig, 
looking  about  approvingly. 

"Are  you  looking  at  that  cabinet,  the  one  with  the 
dolls  in  it?  That's  a  sixteenth  century  piece;  it  be 
longed  to  Maria  Theresa.  Father  brought  it  from 
Paris  himself.  It's  beautiful,  isn't  it?  I  keep  all 
my  «iolls  in  it,  and  some  day  I'll  show  them  to  you. 
I  have  a  great  collection;  but  I  don't  suppose  you 
take  much  interest  in  dolls,"  said  Helene. 

"Your  father  —  he  must  be  a  fine  man,"  said  Von 
Earwig  with  a  sigh.  "I  have  heard  so  much  of  his 
goodness  to  the  poor,  his  charity,  his  interest  in  church 
matters  -  " 

"Yes,  he  is  very  good,"  said  Helene,  without  any 
enthusiasm  in  her  voice.  "There  is  not  a  hospital  or 
a  church  or  an  asylum  that  doesn't  number  him  among 
its  patrons.  Yes,  he  is  really  a  very  good  man  I 
suppose,"  repeated  Helene  as  if  she  were  trying  to 
assure  herself  of  his  goodness.  "He  lays  more  corner 
stones  and  endows  more  orphanages  than  any  man 
in  America.  He  makes  beautiful  speeches;  no  public 
dinner  seems  to  be  complete  without  him.  He  knows 

194 


Chapter 

Just  what  to  say  and  how  to  say  it,  and  what  is  better 
than  all,  he  knows  when  not  to  say  anything!'* 

Von  Earwig  nodded.  "It's  a  great  gift,  that  of 
speech,"  he  said.  "I  despair  of  ever  being  able  to 
speak  this  language  with  fluency." 

"But  you  speak  English  splendidly,"  said  Helena. 

"My  accent  is  terrible,"  said  Von  Earwig.  "Can 
you  not  hear  it?" 

"Your  accent  is  beautiful  to  me,  a  rich  German 
aristocratic  roundness  of  expression,  with  nothing  in 
the  least  harsh  or  grating  to  the  ear.  I  just  love  to 
hear  you  talk!"  declared  Helene. 

"Really?"  asked  Von  Earwig  in  surprise. 

"Really!"  responded  Helene  with  positive  empha- 

"Ah,  you  spoil  me,  young  lady;  you  spoil  me!  But 
come,  just  a  few  bars  on  the  piano,  that  I  may  see 
where  my  young  pupil  stands." 

Helene  looked  at  him  and  laughed  mischievously. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  rising  with  evident  reluctance. 
"I  will  play  you  The  Maiden's  Prayer' " 

"Hum,"  said  Von  Earwig  dubiously.  "She  has 
prayed  so  many  times  this  poor  maiden;  it  is  time  she 
should  be  answered.  However,  it  is  for  you  to 
decide!" 

Helene  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  played  that 

^well-known  and  sorely  tried  air  through  as  badly  as 

she  possibly  could.    When  she  had  finished  she  placed 

her  elbows  on  the  keyboard  and  said :  "How  do  you 

like  this  maiden's  prayer?" 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  her  critically.  "You  can  do 
better  than  that,"  he  said. 

195 


"How  do  you  know?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"Because,  at  some  points  you  added  notes  of  your 
own.  You  increased  the  bass,  greatly  improving  the 
original  harmony  of  the  composition,"  replied  Von 
Earwig.  "You  have  talent,"  he  added.  "Badly  as 
you  play,  badly  as  you  execute,  your  talent  stands  out. 
No  one  can  add  to  the  composer's  work  without  hav 
ing  musical  ideas  of  his  own." 

"He  has  found  me  out  already,"  thought  Helene. 
Then  she  mechanically  picked  a  tune  on  the  piano 
with  one  finger. 

Von  Earwig's  trained  musical  ear  caught  the  melody 
in  a  moment. 

"Where  did  you  hear  that?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"At  your  house,"  she  answered,  "the  night  I  brought 
Danny  to  you.  I  have  a  very  keen  ear  for  music," 
she  added. 

"You  gave  me  quite  a  start,"  he  said.  "It  is  my 
symphony,  my  dead  and  buried  work.  To  hear  that 
music  from  you  was  startling."  There  was  a  pause. 
"Do  you  know  the  bass  part?"  he  asked. 

She  closed  the  piano  quickly  with  a  bang.  "What 
do  you  think  of  Danny?"  she  asked,  ignoring  his 
question. 

"What  a  curious  girl!"  thought  Von  Earwig,  and, 
then  he  said  aloud,  "The  boy  has  possibilities,  and 
so  have  you,"  he  added. 

Helene  laughed.  "It's  a  shame  to  deceive  him," 
she  thought. 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,"  she  began,  "I  want  to  be  seri 
ous  a  moment.  I'm  afraid  I've  been  guilty  of  a  little 

196 


Chapter  Sixteen 

— what  shall  I  call  it?  Indiscretion  ?  No,  deception; 
that's  better.  I  have  deceived  you — "  She  paused; 
the  look  of  deep  consternation  on  Von  Earwig's  face 
arrested  her.  "What's  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

The  old  man  gazed  at  her.  "I  don't  know,"  he 
said,  swallowing  a  lump  in  his  throat  "The  fear 
that  something  had  happened  to  prevent  the — con 
tinuation — of — I  am  so  happy  here — I — "  He  ap 
parently  was  unable  to  explain  his  meaning,  for  he 
stopped  short. 

"Go  on,"  she  said. 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head.  "You  look  so  serious," 
he  said  after  a  pause.  "I  thought  perhaps  something 
had  happened  to  prevent  my  coming  here,  and  the 
thought  made  me  very  unhappy.  I  am  a  foolish  old 
man,  eh?  But,  I  am  so  happy  here,  so  happy!  I  try 
to  explain,"  he  said.  "Everything  I  have  had  in 
this  world,  everything  I  love  I  have  lost !  I  am 
afraid  to  love  anything  for  fear  that  I  shall  lose  it. 
That's  superstition,  is  it  not?  You  tell  me  you  have 
deceived  me,  and  immediately  I  think  she  is  going  to 
tell  me  that  she  will  no  longer  deceive  me,  that  she 
does  not  like  me  for  a  music  master!  I  know,"  he 
added  plaintively,  "that  I  am  foolish.  But  my  life 
here  since  I  have  been  in  this  country  has  made  of  me 
a  coward.  Forgive  me;  please  forgive  me!" 

The  girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "No,  no !"  she  said 
gently.  "You  need  not  fear.  I  shall  never  want  any 
other  music  master  but  you,  never!" 


10.7 


Chapter  ibebenteen 

,INAC  and  Fico  noticed  it  and  so  did  Miss  Husted. 
Poons  probably  would  have  noticed  it,  too,  if  he 
had  not  been  in  love.  But  Jenny  was  the  only 
one  who  really  felt  the  change  in  Professor  Von  Bar- 
wig.  Try  as  he  would,  the  old  man  could  not  conceal 
from  them  the  fact  that  ''something  had  happened." 
Not  that  he  was  not  just  as  affable  to  Miss  Husted  as 
ever,  not  that  he  was  any  less  warm  in  his  manner 
toward  his  friends,  but  there  was  something  missing 
and  Jenny  was  the  only  one  who  came  anywhere  near 
guessing  the  truth.  "He  has  found  some  one  whom 
he  loves  more  than  us,"  thought  she,  and  she  felt 
glad  at  heart  for  his  sake ;  though  she  did  not  under 
stand. 

"He  feels  so  bad  with  himself  that  we  have  lost  our 
engagement  through  him  that  he  cannot  come  over 
it,"  said  Fico  in  answer  to  Pinac's  query  as  to  what 
was  the  matter  with  Von  Barwig.  They  knew  there  ' 
was  no  chance  now  of  their  getting  the  symphony  en 
gagement,  for  Van  Praag,  hampered  by  creditors, 
unable  to  carry  out  his  contracts  owing  to  the  strike, 
had  gone  into  bankruptcy  and  retired  from  the  ven 
ture  with  the  loss  of  all  his  money.  He  wrote  a  let 
ter  to  Von  Barwig  saying  he  was  going  back  to  Ger 
many,  where  musical  art  was  one  thing  and  bricks  an 
other.  Von  Barwig  sadly  showed  them  the  letter, 
but  his  mind  was  so  taken  up  with  his  new  pupil  that 

198 


Chapter  g>ebenteen 

he    did   not    feel   the    loss    of   the    engagement   as 
they  did. 

And  yet  his  financial  position  was  daily  growing 
worse  and  worse,  for  he  had  practically  no  pupils  at  all 
— that  is,  no  paying  pupils.  Besides  this,  the  weather 
was  so  cold  and  business  had  dropped  off  to  such 
an  extent  at  the  Museum  that  Costello  had  been  com 
pelled  to  reduce  Von  Earwig's  salary  fifty  per  cent. 
"A  half  a  loaf  is  better  than  none,"  he  had  told  the 
night  professor  as  he  handed  him  his  envelope  with 
half  salary  in  it;  so  Von  Earwig  had  been  compelled 
to  take  what  he  could  get.  He  now  seriously  con 
sidered  moving  upstairs. 

"We  haven't  a  room  vacant,"  said  Miss  Husted  in 
A  decided  tone;  "and  if  we  had,"  tenderly,  "no,  pro 
fessor,  no  top  floor  for  you!  I  couldn't  bear  the 
idea  of  it;  I  couldn't  really!  Pay  me  when  you  get 
it,"  she  said  when  the  old  man  pleaded  that  he  must 
live  within  his  means. 

"But  I  may  never  get  it,"  expostulated  the  professor. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  confidently  replied  Miss  Husted. 
"Mrs.  Mangenborn  says  it  is  in  the  cards  that  great 
fortune  is  coming  to  you." 

"In  the  next  world,  perhaps,"  said  Von  Earwig, 
laughing  in  spite  of  himself. 

"Besides,"  went  on  Miss  Husted,  "it  doesn't  mat 
ter  one  way  or  the  other.  I  could  never  bear  the 
idea.  Stay  here  for  my  sake,"  she  pleaded  when 
she  saw  that  the  professor  was  obstinate;  and  so  he 
remained  in  his  old  rooms,  though  he  squeezed  every 
penny  in  order  to  pay  her. 

199 


On  the  afternoon  following  his  interview  with  his 
father,  Beverly  Cruger  made  up  his  mind  to  speak  to 
Helene,  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  He  called  at  her 
home,  and  was  informed  by  Joles  that  she  was  en 
gaged;  that  a  German  gentleman  was  giving  her 
music  instruction,  and  that  her  orders  were  that  sha 
was  not  to  be  disturbed.  Beverly  left  his  card,  in 
tending  to  call  the  next  day,  but  the  fates  were  against 
him,  and  he  was  sent  for  by  the  State  Department  in 
regard  to  his  diplomatic  position  and  had  to  go  to 
Washington.  On  his  return  to  New  York  a  week 
later,  he  again  called  on  Miss  Stanton.  To  his  as 
tonishment  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  his  extreme 
annoyance,  he  found  Miss  Stanton  again  "engaged." 
Herr  Von  Barwig,  her  music  master,  was  there. 
"Please  take  up  my  card,  Joles,  and  tell  Miss  Stan- 
ton  that  I  wish  to  see  her  on  a  matter  of  the  utmost 
importance  —  the  utmost  importance,"  repeated 
Beverly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Joles. 

"Herr  Von  Barwig  appears  to  be  persona  gratis- 
sima"  thought  Beverly,  and  then  it  occurred  to  him  j 
that  it  was  very  strange  that  an  accomplished  musician 
like  Helene  Stanton  should  take  music  lessons.  "He 
must  be  a  very  superior  sort  of  a  musical  personage , 
very  superior  indeed."  Beverly  would  not  acknowl 
edge  even  to  himself  that  he  resented  Herr  Von  Bar- 
wig's  presence  at  the  Stantons'.  "How  can  our  Ameri 
can  women  be  so  deceived  by  the  artificial  deference, 
the  insincere,  highly  polished  politeness  of  these  for 
eigners  !"  he  mused.  "Von  Barwig  is  probably  an  off- 

200 


Chapter  g>ebenteen 

shoot  of  some  noble  German  house,  but  she's  not  apt 
to  be  attracted  by  an  empty  title !"  He  had  loved  her 
for  months,  he  told  himself,  and  each  time  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  speak  this  foreigner  had  been 
the  means  of  preventing  him. 

"Send  him  up  please,  Joles.  I  want  you  to  meet. 
Mr.  Cruger,  Herr  Von  Barwig,"  said  Helene  as  she 
glanced  at  the  card  Joles  handed  her,  and  rose  from 
the  piano  where  she  was  taking  a  lesson.  "I  haven't 
seen  him  for  days  and  days;  I  wondered  what  had 
become  of  him." 

Von  Earwig  noticed  the  heightened  colour  in  Miss 
Stanton's  cheeks  and  he  made  a  mental  note  that  he 
must  like  Mr.  Beverly  Cruger,  too,  yet,  if  the  truth 
must  be  known,  he  felt  a  pang  of  regret.  "She  loves 
him,"  he  said  to  himself,  "she  will  forget  me." 

"Shall  we  not  continue  the  lesson?"  he  said  aloud. 

Helene  shook  her  head.  "No  more  to-day,"  she 
said. 

"Then  Miss  Stanton  will  perhaps  pardon  my  leav 
ing,"  said  Von  Barwig. 

"On  the  contrary,  Herr  Professor,  Miss  Stan- 
ton  insists  on  your  remaining,"  said  Helene,  motion 
ing  him  to  a  seat.  Von  Barwig  bowed  deferentially. 

"You  have  disappointed  me  to-day,"  he  said.  "Ach, 
your  tempos  change — like  the  winds!  At  one  mo 
ment  it  is  6-8,  the  next  2-4,  and  almost  in  the 
same  measure,  you  play  4-4.  At  one  moment  you 
play  with  your  thumbs,  like  a  little  girl;  at  another, 
you  play  like  a  professional,  an  artist.  I  cannot 
understand  it.  Technically  I  don't  know  where  you 

201 


are.  I  am  puzzled!  I  admit  it;  I  am  puzzled,"  and 
he  looked  at  her  in  perplexed  uncertainty. 

Helene's  only  answer  was  a  ripple  of  laughter.  She 
was  beginning  to  enjoy  her  own  cleverness  in  deceiv 
ing  him,  and  his  confusion  endeared  him  to  her  more 
/than  ever.  The  greater  his  perplexity  the  more  she 
sympathised  with  him. 

"Poor  old  gentleman,"  she  thought,  "it  is  downright 
wicked  of  me  to  deceive  him.  But  what  can  I  do? 
If  I  let  him  know  I  don't  need  his  services  he  will  not 


come." 


"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  bring  you  some  simple 
exercises  for  our  next  lesson,  Miss  Stanton.  No  more 
Bach  and  unevenly  played  Beethoven!"  said  Von 
Barwig.  "It  is  necessary  that  we  begin  at  the  begin 
ning  and  work  up.  That's  it!  We  begin  all  over 
again,  at  the  very  beginning,  and  work  up  to  the  top. 
Then  you  will  have  some  style,  some  form,  some 
technique  that  you  can  call  your  own." 

"Oh,  dear,  you're  not  going  to  make  me  play  exer 
cises,  are  you?  Oh,  Herr  Von  Barwig,  dear  Herr 
Von  Barwig,  please  don't!"  said  Helene,  with  such 
a  pleading  accent  that  Von  Barwig  was  compelled  to 
smile. 

"It  just  serves  me  right,"  she  thought.  "I  shall 
literally  have  to  face  the  music,"  she  said  to  herself 
with  a  laugh. 

Beverly  Cruger  heard  that  laugh  as  he  came  into 
the  room,  and  he  made  up  his  mind  that  Herr  Von 
Barwig  was  one  of  those  highly  entertaining  for 
eigners  who  appeal  to  the  feminine  mind  with 

202 


Chapter 

their   superficial   brilliancy   and    capture    all   before 
them. 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,  this  is  Mr.  Beverly  Cruger," 
broke  in  Helene,  and  Mr.  Cruger  was  formally  in 
troduced  to  his  rival. 

Beverly  could  hardly  repress  a  smile  as  his  eyes  fell 
on  the  slim  figure  of  the  poor,  grey-headed,  homely 
old  artist.  Was  this  the  noble  young  foreigner,  the 
handsome  German  music  master  he  had  pictured  to 
himself?  Was  this  Helene's  romance? 

"Gott  in  Himmel,  what  a  squeeze  he  gives  the 
hand !"  thought  Von  Barwig,  as  he  tried  to  release  his 
injured  digits  from  the  vice  that  held  them. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Herr  Von  Barwig,"  said 
Beverly;  and  he  meant  it. 

"Yes,  and  I,  .too,"  groaned  Von  Barwig  as  he  rubbed 
his  fingers.  "A  fine  fellow,"  he  thought.  "Such  a 
welcome  as  that  must  come  from  the  heart.  But  ach 
Gott,  what  a  muscle!  It's  like  iron!" 

Helene  was  surprised.  Beverly  Cruger  was  far  and 
away  the  most  undemonstrative  man  of  her  acquaint 
ance,  and  his  cordial  greeting  of  her  old  music  master 
went  straight  to  her  heart.  "He  likes  him  be 
cause — perhaps,  because  I  do,"  she  thought. 

"Do  you  know  you  remind  me  very  much  of  a 
splendid  bust  of  Beethoven  I  saw  in  the  British 
Museum?  Upon  my  word  you  do !" 

Von  Barwig  bowed. 

"Oh,  I  think  Mozart  rather  than  Beethoven,"  sug 
gested  Helene.  "He's  not  stern  enough  for 
Beethoven." 

201 


(EJje  Jfflustc  Blaster 

Again  Von  Earwig  bowed. 

Beverly  Cruger  shook  his  head.  "Beethoven,"  he 
said,  looking  at  Von  Barwig  critically.  "Still — well — 
I'm  not  sure,  perhaps " 

"Mozart,"  insisted  Helene. 

"Are  you  sure  you  don't  mean  Liszt?  We  really 
do  look  alike!"  Von  Barwig  said,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye.  Then  he  added,  "Ah,  you  are  very  kind  to 
me,  very  kind!  Dear  me,  I  am  afraid  you  spoil  me. 
Those  are  the  giants,  the  leaders  of  a  great  art.  I 
am  the  most  humble  of  all  its  followers.  Even  to  re 
semble  them  is  in  itself  a  great  honour." 

Helene  could  never  quite  clearly  remember  how 
or  when  Von  Barwig  took  his  leave  that  memorable 
afternoon,  but  when  he  came  on  the  following  day  to 
give  his  lesson  she  held  both  his  hands  in  hers. 

"You  shall  be  the  first  one  to  hear  the  news,"  she 
said  almost  in  a  whisper.  "I'm  so  happy,  so  very, 
very  happy!"  He  looked  at  her,  and  understood. 

"Herr  Cruger?"  he  asked.  She  nodded  affirma 
tively. 

"How  did  you  know?" 

"Ah!  He  is  an  excellent  young  man;  I  approve 
very  highly  of  him."  Then  he  was  afraid  of  his  own 
temerity.  "What  right  had  he  to  approve?  He 
must  curb  his  tongue,"  he  thought.  "I  beg  your  par 
don!  I  mean  he  is  a  most  excellent  gentleman." 

Helene  hardly  heard  him,  for  her  thoughts  were  far 
away  at  that  moment.  "I  wonder  what  father  will 
say?"  she  said. 

Von  Barwig  started.  The  word  father  sounded 

204 


Chapter  H>ebenteen 

strange,  as  if  a  discord  had  been  struck  in  the  midst 
of  a  beautiful  harmony.  "Why  should  I  feel  like 
that?"  he  asked  himself.  "Earwig,  you  are  a  fool, 
a  madman!  Mr.  Stanton  is  her  father;  I  must  love 
him,  too.  My  heart  must  not  beat  every  time  I  hear 
his  name.  Come !  Let  us  go  to  work ;  our  studies — " 
he  said  aloud,  tapping  the  book.  "We  must 
go  to  work.  I  have  brought  with  me  the  book  of 


exercises." 


"No !  no  study  to-day.  But  please  don't  go — just 
yet,"  she  added  as  Von  Earwig  prepared  to  take  his 
departure.  "Sit  down !  I  am  going  to  be  very  angry 
with  you." 

"Angry  with  me?"  the  old  man  smiled.  He  knew  it 
was  only  the  girPs  way  of  finding  some  little  trivial 
fault  with  him.  "Angry  with  me,"  he  repeated. 
"And  you  said  you  were  so  very,  very  happy." 

"Yes,  I  forgot  when  you  came  in  that  I  ought  to 
be  very  angry  with  you." 

"Ah,  you  ought  to  be,  but  you  are  not !  No,  surely 
not,"  said  Von  Earwig  gently. 

"Why  did  you  send  me  back  my  cheque  ?    This  one  I  j 
Don't  look  so  innocent;  you  know  what  I  mean,  sir!"> 
and  Helene  held  up  the  cheque  that  Von  Earwig  had 
found  awaiting  him  at  his  room  the  night  before,  and 
that  he  had  carefully  mailed  back  to  her. 

Von  Earwig  looked  pained. 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,  let  us  have  a  little  understand 
ing!"  said  Helene  in  a  far  more  serious  tone  than 
she  usually  took  with  her  music  master. 

"Ah,  don't  be  angry,  please  don't  be  angry  to-day ! 

205 


;J$tu*tc 

Not  on  such  a  day  as  this!"  he  urged.  "To-morrow 
you  may  scold  me  if  you  like;  but  to-day,  no,  please, 
no !"  and  he  looked  at  her  so  pleadingly  that  Helene 
was  forced  to  smile.  "I  wish  nothing  to  hap 
pen  that  shall  interfere  with  the  happiness  that  has 
come  to  you,"  he  added. 

But  Helene  was  insistent.  "It  has  been  on  my  mind 
some  time  to  ask  you  why  you  take  such  an  interest  in 
me,"  she  said,  "and  now  this,"  and  she  looked  at  the 
cheque. 

Von  Earwig  was  silent.  What  could  he  say?  He 
dared  not  tell  her  the  real  reason. 

"When  I  came  to  your  studio  with  the  little  boy 
and  asked  you  to  teach  him,  you  refused  to  accept 
money.  Your  reasons  were  that  you  were  devoted 
to  your  art  and  that  you  loved  to  help  the  children 
of  the  poor.  Surely  I  don't  come  under  that  classi 
fication,  Herr  Von  Earwig?" 

"Oh,  no,  no !"  faltered  poor  Von  Earwig. 

"Then  why  do  you  refuse  to  take  my  money? 
Heaven  only  knows  you've  worked  hard  enough  for 
it !  Your  efforts  to  instill  your  ideas  into  my  head  de 
serve  far  greater  recognition  than  mere  money  pay 
ment." 

"No,  no !  I  have  not  worked.  It  has  been  so  great 
a  pleasure.  No,  decidedly  there  has  been  no  work! 
I  do  not  feel  myself  entitled  to  take,  until  you  show 
some  progress."  Von  Earwig  felt  himself  on  terra 
firma  again. 

"All  that  is  begging  the  question,  my  dear  Maestro ! 
Whether  your  work  affords  you  pleasure  or  no,  it  Is 

206 


Cfjapter 

still  your  work.  Teaching  is  your  means  of  liveli 
hood,  is  it  not?" 

"Not  altogether;  I  play  at — "  and  then  he  thought 
of  the  Dime  Museum  and  was  silent.  He  looked  at 
her;  she  was  regarding  him  quite  seriously,  and  he  was 
afraid  he  had  offended  her.  There  was  a  pause  dur 
ing  which  he  tried  to  think  out  a  course  of  action 
calculated  to  offset  his  mistake.  Helene  broke  the 
silence. 

"You  left  your  own  country,  where  I  understand 
you  were  well  known  and  successful,  and  you  came 
over  here,  where,  pardon  my  saying  so,  you  are  not 
known  and  where  you — "  Helene  hesitated  slightly, 
"where  you  are  not  so  prosperous.  When  I  bring  you 
a  pupil  you  refuse  to  take  money  for  his  tuition. 
When  I  take  lessons  from  you  myself,  you  refuse  to 
take  money  from  me.  Now,  my  dear  Herr  Von 
Earwig,  I  confess  that  I  cannot  understand!  You 
must  explain."  There  was  a  dead  silence.  "What 
does  it  mean?"  demanded  Helene.  Von  Barwig 
looked  at  her  helplessly.  He  had  no  explanation,  or, 
rather,  he  realised  that  the  one  he  had  was  insufficient. 

"Why  do  you  take  so  much  interest  in  me?"  she 
asked. 

"At  first  for  a  likeness,  a  likeness  to  some  one  I 
knew,"  replied  Von  Barwig,  in  a  low  voice.  "You 
resemble  a  memory  I  have  known,  a  memory  that 
gives  me  so  much  happiness.  She  is  gone,  and  now 
you  —  pardon  the  liberty  —  you  take  her  place. 
I  take  interest  because  it  was  she  —  and  it  is 
now  —  you  —  you  -  -  a  fresh  young  girl  that  will 

207 


jfflusic 

never  grow  old!  You  have  taken  the  place  of — 
of — "  Von  Earwig  could  not  go  on.  He  knew  what 
he  meant,  but  he  could  not  express  it. 

uAs  I  said  before,  Herr  Von  Earwig,"  and  Helene 
spoke  now  with  less  show  of  wounded  dignity,  "I 
do  not  understand.  It  is  simply  incomprehensible, 
but  it  amounts  to  this — you  must  not  refuse  this  cheque. 
If  you  do,  I — I  shall  be  compelled  to — to  refuse  to 
go  on  with  my  lessons,"  and  Helene  held  out  the 
cheque  toward  him.  Von  Earwig  looked  at  her;  his 
sweet  melancholy  smile  deepened  as  he  slowly  shook 
his  head. 

"If  you  knew,  if  you  knew,  Miss  Helene,  how  I  love 
to  teach  you,  you  would  realise  that  I  am  over-com 
pensated  now.  I  am  a  foolish  old  man,  I  suppose,  a 
foolish,  sentimental  old  man!  Perhaps  I  do  not 
understand  the  ways  of  this  country.  Here  there  is 
no  what  we  call  esprit  de  corps,  no  enthusiasm, 
no  love  of  art  for  the  sake  of  art,  no  love  of  beauty 
for  the  mere  sake  of  beauty.  All  is  exchange  and 
barter;  so  much  done,  so  much  to  be  paid  for.  Music, 
bricks,  painting,  sculpture  and  sewing  machines  all  in 
one  item — all  to  be  paid  for.  Here  for  me  is  fairy 
land  !  It  may  not  be  fairyland  for  others,  but  for  me 
it  is  fairyland.  When  I  walk  up  the  steps  of  this 
house  and  ring  the  bell,  I  stand  there  impatiently  till 
your  Mr.  Joles  opens  up  for  me  heaven.  When  I 
tell  you  that  Mr.  Joles  is  for  me  an  angel,  the 
archangel  that  unlocks  for  me  paradise,  you  will  real 
ise  to  what  extent  1  separate  this  world  of  love,  of  joy, 
of  happiness,  the  world  over  which  you  preside,  from 


THE   MUSIC    MASTER  S    CONFIDANTE 


Chapter  ftefcenteett 

the  outside  world,  where  together  come  music  and 
bricks  and  human  misery.  Here  is  my  heaven,  my 
haven  of  rest  and  sweet  contentment.  Shall  I  take 
money  for  it;  shall  I  be  paid  for  my  happiness?  Ah, 
Fraulein,  Fraulein,  I  dream,  I  dream !  For  sixteen 
years  I  have  not  rested.  Don't  wake  rne,  please  don't 
wake  me!" 

Helene  tore  the  cheque  into  little  pieces. 

"To-morrow  at  three,  Herr  Von  Earwig,"  she  said. 
And  when  he  had  gone  she  burst  into  tears  without 
in  the  least  knowing  why. 


Chapter  Ctgfjteen 

HATEVER  Andrew  Cruger  may  have 
thought  in  his  inner  consciousness  on  the 
subject  of  his  son's  engagement  to  Helene 
Stanton,  he  outwardly  showed  no  sign  that  he  was  not 
well  pleased.  He  simply  gave  the  consent  that  Bev 
erly  asked  of  him,  and  accepted  the  new  condition  as 
another  event  in  the  continuity  of  life.  "Of  course 
there  can  be  no  formal  engagement  until  her  father 
returns  from  Europe,"  said  he. 
"Can't  we  get  his  consent  by  cable?"  asked  his  son. 
"I  don't  believe  in  these  irregularities,"  said  the  elder 
Cruger,  whose  diplomatic  training  had  made  him 
something  of  a  stickler  for  formality  and  precedent. 
"There  will  be  time  enough  for  that  when  he  re 
turns." 

Beverly  submitted  without  another  word,  for  he 
felt  that  his  father  had  already  given  way  to  him  a 
good  deal.  The  young  people  did  not  cable  to  Mr. 
Stanton  for  his  consent,  for  all  agreed  that  there  would 
be  time  enough  to  acquaint  him  with  the  fact  when 
he  returned.  Whatever  Mr.  Cruger's  mental  atti 
tude  toward  the  engagement  might  have  been  his 
manner  toward  Helene  was  most  cordial.  As  for 
Beverly's  mother,  she  was  delighted  beyond  all  words. 
"The  dear,  dear  girl,  how  I  shall  love  her!"  she  said 
to  Beverly,  on  hearing  the  news.  And  after  she  had 
showered  mother  kisses,  plentifully  mixed  with 

2IO 


Chapter  (Eighteen 

mother  tears,  on  them  both,  her  happiness  was  well- 
nigh  complete. 

That  afternoon  the  Crugers  were  to  make  a  formal 
call  on  Helene.  Andrew  Cruger  had  finally  yielded 
to  his  son's  entreaties  and  consented  to  call  on  her, 
'notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Mr.  Stanton  was  still 
in  Europe  and  his  formal  consent  had  not  been 
obtained. 

"I  have  been  looking  forward  to  the  day  when  I 
should  see  my  son's  wife,"  said  the  elder  Cruger, 
somewhat  pompously  to  Helene,  as  he  greeted  her 
with  outstretched  hand.  He  could  never  get  over  the 
idea  that  formalism  was  the  soul  of  function. 

"I  have  always  felt  that  I  would  demand  a  great 
deal  of  her,"  went  on  Mr.  Cruger,  in  his  best  after- 
dinner  manner.  "I  thank  you  for  giving  me  every 
thing  I  could  desire !  You  are  the  daughter  of  a  man 
whose  charity  and  beneficence  we  all  respect  and  ad 
mire,  and — "  Here  he  paused  to  take  breath. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Helene  simply.  She  was  sur 
prised  that  he  did  not  kiss  her  instead  of  making  a 
form?'  speech. 

"I  know  that  father  means  what  he  says,"  remarked 
Beverly  to  his  mother;  "but  I  do  wish  he  would  say  it 
>in  a  less  stereotyped  manner." 

"Hush!"  replied  his  mother,  "your  father  is  speak 
ing  again." 

"I  want  your  married  life  to  begin  auspiciously," 
continued  the  elder  Cruger,  as  if  he  had  not  been  in 
terrupted.  "So  I  have  made  what  I  consider  to  be 
a  sacrifice  for  you.  I  had  hoped  to  retire  from  public 

211 


Jffilustc 

life,  but  I  have  altered  my  decision.  I  shall  again 
represent  my  country  in  a  foreign  land." 

Helene  gratefully  acknowledged  the  sacrifice,  al 
though  she  did  not  quite  see  where  it  came  in.  She 
had  heard  that  most  American  representatives  at  for 
eign  courts  managed  rather  to  enjoy  life  than  other 
wise. 

"When  I  go  abroad  as  hostess  in  the  Embassy  that 
Mr.  Cruger  represents,"  Mrs.  Cruger  said,  taking  up 
the  thread  of  the  conversation,  "I  want  my  son's  wife 
to  share  my  honours.  A  sweet  young  woman,  far 
younger  than  I,  is  almost  a — a — " 

"A  charming  necessity,"  added  Mr.  Cruger,  who 
made  it  a  habit  to  finish  his  wife's  sentences. 

"Yes,  a  charming  necessity,"  echoed  his  wife,  and 
then  she  continued: 

"The  fact  that  Octavie  is  engaged  suggests  a  double 
wedding.  They  will  marry  in  June,  if  the  weather  is 
good." 

"What  has  the  weather  to  do  with  Octavie's  wed 
ding?"  inquired  Mr.  Cruger. 

"Simply  that  it's  an  automobile  wedding,  Andrew," 
replied  his  wife. 

Mr.  Cruger  looked  almost  pained.  "Permit  me  to 
remark,  Mary,  that  no  Cruger  was  ever  married  in 
an  automobile  and  I  trust  that  no  Cruger  will  so  far 
forget  himself  or  herself  as  to  establish  so  ridiculous 
a  precedent." 

"The  motor  business  comes  in  after  the  wedding, 
father;  at  least  so  Octavie  said,"  whispered  Beverly. 

"Your  niece  is  very  frivolous,"  remarked  Mr. 

212 


Chapter  €igf)teen 

Cruger  to  his  wife.    "I  shall  take  pains  to  remind  her 
that  we  Crugers  marry  quietly  in  Trinity!" 

Helene  laughed  aloud.  The  idea  of  Octavie  doing 
anything  quietly  appealed  to  her  sense  of  humour. 

"She  does  not  take  us  very  seriously,"  thought  Mr. 
Cruger.  Mrs.  Cruger  glanced  at  her  husband  and 
noticed  a  rather  injured  expression  appear  upon  his 
face.  Evidently  he  was  not  highly  pleased  at  Helene's 
levity. 

"You  have  written  to  your  father?"  Mr.  Cruger 
asked  her  presently. 

"No,  Mr.  Cruger,"  replied  Helene  after  a  pause. 

"No,  my  dear?"  echoed  Mr.  Cruger  in  surprise. 

"I  will  tell  him  when  he  returns,"  said  Helene. 

Mr.  Cruger  was  almost  dismayed.  "You  have  not 
written  to  your  father?"  he  repeated.  "My  dear 
Helene,  these  formalities  must  be  complied  with! 
Your  father's  consent  is  of  the  utmost  importance. 
Not  that  I  anticipate  any — er — opposition  from  that 
quarter,  but  it's  merely  the  idea  of  the  thing!  Of 
course,  I  am  somewhat  old-fashioned,  I  admit." 

"In  France,  for  instance,  it  is  against  the  law,"  in 
terrupted  Beverly  in  a  satirical  tone. 

Helene  smiled.  Her  prospective  father-in-law  ap 
peared  to  her  somewhat  punctilious,  but  she  deter 
mined  to  humour  him. 

"Your  father  is  quite  right,  Beverly,"  she  said.  "I 
should  have  cabled  at  once." 

At  this  moment  Joles  entered,  apparently  somewhat 
nervous.  "Mr.  Von  Barwig  is  here,  miss,  he  ex 
plained.  "I  told  him  you  were  engaged,  but " 

213 


"Ask  him  to  come  up,  Joles."  Joles  was  surprised, 
but  being  a  well-trained  servant,  his  face  gave  no  out 
ward  indication  of  his  feelings. 

"It  is  my  music  master,  Mrs.  Cruger.  I  think  this 
is  a  splendid  opportunity  for  you  to  see  him  about 
your  niece's  music  lessons."  Mr.  Cruger  looked  al 
most  shocked.  A  music  master  invited  to  take  part  in 
a  family  function !  Such  conduct  savoured  of  social 
ism,  and  socialism  did  not  appeal  to  him. 

"Herr  Von  Earwig  is  a  most  exceptionable  person," 
said  Helene,  quite  unconscious  of  the  thought  her 
words  had  aroused  in  her  prospective  father-in-law. 

"Von  Earwig?  Von  Earwig?"  repeated  Mr. 
Cruger,  apparently  interested  in  the  name.  "Don't 
I  know  that  name?  It  seems  quite  familiar.  A 
music  master,  you  say?  Yes,  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
do  know  it!" 

"He's  one  of  the  dearest  old  chaps  I  ever  met," 
broke  in  Beverly,  "such  a  gentle  creature,  a  most  ex 
cellent  musician,  but  rather  unfortunate." 

"I  know  the  name  quite  well,  but  if  it's  the  man  I 
mean  it's  impossible  that  it  can  be  the  same.  He  was 
a  fine  musician,  from  Dresden  I  think.  Was  it  Dres 
den?"  he  asked  himself,  as  if  annoyed  that  his 
memory  had  played  him  false.  "It  must  have  been 
Dresden  or  Leipsic." 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,"  announced  Joles,  in  his  most 
formal  and  freezing  manner. 

Poor  old  Von  Earwig  came  into  the  room  expecting 
to  see  no  one  but  Helene,  and  was  painfully  as 
tounded  to  see  so  many  strangers.  He  wore  his  old 

214 


Chapter  Ctgfjteen 

broadcloth  suit ;  it  was  well  brushed,  but  more  shiny 
than  ever.  Poons  had  carefully  brushed  it  for  him 
that  morning  and  it  was  more  than  scrupulously  clean. 
His  gloves  were  old,  but  Jenny  had  mended  up  the 
holes  the  night  before,  so  he  looked  even  neater  and 
more  genteel  than  usual  this  afternoon.  He  carried 
the  cheap  little  bunch  of  violets,  wrapped  in  paper, 
in  one  hand  and  his  hat  in  the  other,  for  Joles  had 
never  been  able  to  persuade  him  to  leave  it  in  the  hall. 
He  stood  by  the  door,  as  close  as  he  could  get  to  it, 
as  if  afraid  to  come  in,  and  then  bowed  low  to  Helene 
and  the  others.  There  he  waited  with  timid  dignity, 
uncertain  as  to  what  he  should  do  next.  There  was 
a  dead  silence  for  a  few  moments. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Helene  in  an  affec 
tionate  tone,  coming  to  the  rescue;  and  taking  him 
warmly  by  the  hand  she  led  him  away  from  the  door 
into  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Glad  to  meet  you  again,  Herr  Von  Earwig,"  said 
Beverly,  coming  forward,  and  shaking  hands  with 
him  far  more  cordially  than  the  occasion  called  for. 
He  then  introduced  Von  Earwig  to  his  mother  and 
father.  The  elder  Cruger  looked  at  him  very  closely. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  we  have  met  before,  sir.  Your 
face  is  very  familiar.  Yes,  yes;  Prince  Holberg 
Meckstein  introduced  me  to  you  at  one  of  your  con 
certs." 

"Holberg  Meckstein,"  repeated  Von  Earwig  in  a 
frightened  voice.  "Yes,  I — I  knew  him;  but — but — 
I — forgive  me,  I — I  do  not  remember!" 

"It  was  in  Leipsic;  oh,  it  must  be  fifteen  years  ago!" 

215 


*aid  Mr.  Cruger.  "At  that  time  I  had  the  United 
States  Embassy  at  Berlin.  Surely,  you  must  remem 
ber!  You  became  nervous  that  night  while  conduct 
ing  your  own  symphony,  and  you  fainted  away  right 
before  the  audience.  Don't  you  remember?" 

"I  remember,"  said  Von  Earwig,  in  a  low  hoarse 
voice,  which  he  controlled  with  great  difficulty. 

"And  then  a  few  months  later  you  made  some  in 
quiries  at  the  Embassy  for  me,"  went  on  Mr.  Cruger, 
"but  I  was  unfortunately  not  there  at  the  time,  and 
so  was  unable  to  be  of  service  to  you.  You  had  some 
mission,  some  object  in  going  to  America,  the  Secre 
tary  of  Legation  said.  You  wanted  a  list  of  all 
the  large  towns  in  the  United  States.  I  hope  you 
were  successful  in  finding  what  you  were  searching 
for?" 

"No,  sir,  I  did  not  accomplish — my  mission,"  re 
plied  Von  Earwig,  who  had  gained  command  of  him 
self  to  some  extent,  and  could  speak  without  giving 
evidence  of  his  emotion.  "It  is  extremely  kind  of 
you  to  remember  me !"  His  retiring,  bashful  manner 
was  somewhat  disconcerting,  but  beneath  it  there  was 
the  unmistakable  evidence  of  birth,  breeding  and  dig 
nity. 

"I  am  glad  to  find  you  in  the  house  of  such  a  dis 
tinguished  citizen  of  the  United  States  as  Mr.  Stan- 
ton,"  said  Mr.  Cruger  at  parting  with  Von  Earwig. 

"Ah,  you  know  him,  her  father!  He  is  a  distin 
guished  citizen?"  said  Von  Earwig,  and  the  last  ray 
of  hope  died  within  him.  "He  is  a  distinguished  citi 
zen,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  he  is  her  father."  He 

216 


<£igf)teen 

sighed  deeply,  and  reproached  himself  for  ever  hav 
ing  hoped. 

"That  old  man  has  a  history,"  thought  the  elder 
Cruger,  as  he  went  up  to  Helene,  intent  on  saying 
good-bye  to  her.  Joles  had  announced  his  wife's 
nieces,  and  he  did  not  care  to  stay  longer.  He  had 
done  his  duty  by  Beverly  and  that  was  all  that  was 
necessary.  As  he  shook  hands  warmly  with  Helene, 
he  said  to  her : 

"I  should  like  to  see  Herr  Von  Earwig  again." 

Helene  squeezed  his  hand  warmly;  it  was  the  first 
note  of  affection  that  had  been  sounded  between 
them. 

"Let  me  know  if  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  him,"  he 
said. 

"I  will,  I  promise  you  I  will,"  replied  Helene,  and 
Mr.  Cruger  took  his  departure,  accompanied  by  his 
son. 

The  girls  were  introduced  to  Herr  Von  Earwig. 
"And  this  is  Helene's  romance,"  thought  Octavie,  as 
she  looked  at  Von  Earwig  and  laughed  aloud.  Von 
Earwig  thought  she  was  a  very  pleasant  young  lady, 
and  smiled  back  in  return. 

"I  should  like  Charlotte  to  study  for  the  next  two 
years,  Herr  Von  Earwig,  and  Octavie  till  about 
June,"  said  Mrs.  Cruger,  who  was  determined  to  get 
Herr  Von  Earwig  to  teach  her  nieces,  since  Helene 
had  recommended  him  so  highly. 

"I  don't  want  to  study  at  all,"  said  Octavie.  "Who 
ever  heard  of  an  engaged  girl  studying?" 

"And  pray,  am  I  not  an  engaged  girl,  as  you  call 

217 


it?"  asked  Helene,  who  was  pouring  out  tea.    "And 
do  I  not  study?" 

"Yes,  but  you're  an  accomplished  musician, 
and " 

"One  lump  or  two,  Herr  Von  Earwig?"  broke  in'', 
Helene,  to  change  the  conversation. 

"No  lumps!  Yes,  thank  you,  I  take  one,"  said 
Von  Earwig,  somewhat  confused  by  the  incessant 
chatter  of  the  young  ladies,  who  smiled  at  his  awk 
wardness. 

"Cake,  Herr  Von  Earwig?"  Helene  held  out  the 
dish  to  her  music  master. 

"No,  thank  you,"  he  replied  quietly,  and  then  catch 
ing  an  appealing  look  from  her,  he  took  a  cake,  and 
then  another. 

"The  idea  of  waiting  on  a  music  master,"  whispered 
Octavie  to  Charlotte;  "she'll  spoil  him." 

"She's  a  socialist,"  said  Charlotte. 

"Come,  girls,  tell  Herr  Von  Earwig  what  you  know. 
If  he  can  teach  such  a  finished  pianist  as  Helene,  I 
am  determined  that  you  shall  have  the  advantage  of 
his  tutelage." 

"A  finished  musician?"  thought  Von  Earwig. 
"Heaven  save  us!  You  have  had  lessons  before?" 
he  continued  to  ask  one  of  the  gay  young  ladies.  You 
have  studied  a  great  deal,  yes?" 

"We've  had  lots  of  lessons,"  replied  Octavie,  "but 
I  don't  think  we've  studied;  at  least  I  haven't!"  she 
confessed. 

"Don't  count  on  me !  I  know  nothing;  absolutely 
nothing!"  volunteered  Charlotte. 

218 


Cfjapter  Cigfjteen 

"Well,"  said  Von  Earwig  sententiously,  "that  is 
something  at  all  events !  Many  musicians  take  years 
to  discover  that." 

"I  only  want  to  know  enough  to  do  a  few  stunts," 
said  Charlotte  to  him  gaily. 

Von  Earwig's  face  fell.  "Stunts !  they  do  not  love 
music,"  he  thought,  "they  want  to  do  tricks."  And 
then  the  girls  talked  on  the  subject  of  musical  come 
dies,  popular  songs  and  dance  music,  until  their  aunt 
interrupted  them. 

"Come,  Charlotte,"  said  the  excellent  Mrs.  Cruger. 
She  thought  her  nieces  had  had  time  to  prevail  on  the 
eminer  t  professor  to  take  them.  "Remember  your 
appointment  at  the  museum." 

Von  Earwig,  in  the  act  of  drinking  tea,  nearly 
choked.  He  thought  of  his  Dime  Museum.  "If 
they  should  ever  dream  of  such  a  thing!" 

"My  drawing  master  is  meeting  me  at  the  Museum 
of  Art,"  explained  Charlotte  to  Von  Earwig. 

"Will  you  play  something  before  you  go?"  asked 
Von  Earwig.  Charlotte  went  to  the  piano  and  banged 
out  a  two-step  march  that  was  the  raging  popular 
tune  of  the  day. 

"Ah,  that  is  the  stunt !  Now,  if  you  will  play  some 
music,"  ventured  Von  Earwig,  "I  can  just  tell  you 
where  you  are." 

"Isn't  that  music?"  asked  Charlotte. 

"It  is  rhythm  and  jingle — a  stunt  as  you  call  it. 
Real  musicians  do  not  write  such  things." 

"Isn't  there  a  method  of  learning  how  to  play  with 
out  practising?"  broke  in  Octavie. 

219 


u  JKafttr 

"From  nothing  comes  nothing,"  said  Von  Earwig 
with  a  sigh. 

"Quite  true,"  assented  Mrs.  Cruger. 

"Some  day,"  said  Von  Earwig  prophetically,  "some 
day  they  will  invent  a  machine  that  will  play  itself. 
All  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  pump  a  bellows,  or  turn 
a  wheel  and  the  music  will  play  itself !  You  will  see; 
there  is  so  much  demand  for  it,  some  one  will  rise  to 
the  occasion." 

"Splendid!"  said  Charlotte.  "Won't  that  save  lots 
of  hard  work!" 

"We'll  write  and  make  an  appointment;  Helene 
will  give  us  the  address,"  said  Octavie,  as  th^y  said 
good-bye  to  Von  Earwig. 

"Thank  you  so  much,  Herr  Professor,  for  your 
patience  and  courtesy,"  said  Mrs.  Cruger  at  parting. 

Herr  Von  Earwig  bowed.  The  girls  accompanied 
by  their  aunt  took  their  leave,  and  he  was  left  alone 
with  Helene.  He  took  the  paper  from  the  little 
bunch  of  violets  he  had  brought  with  him,  and  handed 
them  to  her. 

"Ah,  thank  you  so  much!  But  why  do  you  always 
bring  me  flowers?" 

"Why  do  we  love  the  light?"  he  asked.  "Because 
it  gives  us  joy." 

She  took  an  orchid  she  was  wearing  and  tried  to 
pin  it  on  his  coat.  "I  am  afraid,"  said  Von  Earwig, 
"that  it  is  healed  up  !"  Helene  laughed. 

"What  a  curious  expression !"  she  said.  Then  she 
walked  up  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"Shall  we  begin  where  we  left  off?"  asked  Von  Bar- 

220 


Chapter  Cigfjteen 

wig  as  he  opened  the  music.  He  had  been  waiting 
some  time  for  her  to  come  to  the  piano. 

"You  like  him,  don't  you?"  said  Helene  in  a  low 
voice. 

"The  young  Herr  Cruger?"  asked  Von  Earwig. 
Then  without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  went  on: 
"Yes,  he  has  a  fine  noble  heart.  He  is  different  to 
the  young  men  here ;  quite  different." 

"I  am  glad  you  like  him!" 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  am  glad,  that's  all!" 

At  that  moment  Von  Earwig  was  supremely  happy. 
Neither  of  them  spoke  for  a  few  moments. 

"Shall  we  not  begin?"  he  said,  breaking  the  silence. 

Helene  walked  slowly  to  the  piano  and  sat 
down. 

At  that  moment  Joles  entered  the  room  with  a  mes 
sage  for  Miss  Stanton. 

"Put  it  down,  Joles,"  she  said,  striking  a  note  here 
and  there  on  the  piano. 

"It's  a  telegram,  miss." 

"Oh!  bring  it  to  me,  then."  He  obeyed.  She 
opened  it  and  read: 

"Left  Paris  this  morning  en  route  to  New  York. 

FATHER." 

A  feeling  of  dread  crept  over  her;  the  smile  on  her 
face  gave  way  to  a  hardness  of  expression.  Gone  was 
the  joy,  the  happiness,  in  the  girl's  face,  and  in  its 
place  was  doubt,  apprehension,  anxiety. 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  her;  the  keen  eye  of  love 

221 


quickly  detected  the  presence  of  fear.  He  did  not 
speak,  but  his  look  demanded  an  answer  to  its  ques 
tion. 

uMy  father  is  coming  home,"  she  said,  forcing  her 
self  to  smile. 

"Ah  ?  So  ?  I  shall  be  glad  to  meet  him,"  said  Von 
Earwig. 


222 


Chapter  Nineteen 

ENRY  STANTON'S  return  to  New  York  was  not 
marked  by  any  special  outburst  of  joy  on  the 
part  of  the  large  retinue  of  dependents  that 
constituted  the  machinery  of  his  household.  He  was 
feared  rather  than  loved  by  his  servants,  and  this  feel 
ing,  as  has  been  indicated,  was  shared  by  his  daughter 
in  common  with  others.  It  was  not  that  he  did  not 
want  to  be  loved,  or  that  he  was  indifferent  to  the 
feelings  and  opinion  of  others  concerning  him.  On 
the  contrary,  he,  of  all  men,  was  most  anxious  that 
others  should  think  well  of  him.  But  his  manner 
was  stern,  harsh  and  repellent,  and  he  did  not  seem 
to  have  the  capacity  to  gain  the  confidence  or  sym 
pathy  of  those  around  him.  Although  generous  even 
tc  extravagance  where  it  gratified  his  vanity,  of 
broad-minded  charity  in  its  higher  and  nobler  sense 
the  man  knew  nothing.  He  gave  not  because  he  loved, 
but  because  his  charities  reflected  lustre  on  his  name; 
and  here  was  the  man's  most  vulnerable  point,  his 
sensitiveness  as  to  name,  fame,  honour,  reputation, 
dignity,  public  opinion.  "What  will  the  world 
think?"  stood  out  in  blazing  letters  on  a  glittering 
signpost  pointing  to  the  motive  of  all  he  did.  And 
so  when  Mr.  Stanton  told  his  daughter,  the  day  after 
his  arrival,  that  he  approved  of  her  engagement  to 
Beverly  Cruger  and  that  it  gave  him  great  happiness, 
the  utter  absence  of  genuine  fatherly  tenderness  in 

223 


his  manner  showed  the  girl  plainly  that  his  happiness 
was  brought  about  mainly  by  the  fact  that  it  advanced 
him  several  rungs  in  the  social  ladder,  and  not  be 
cause  she  was  going  to  marry  a  man  who  would  make 
her  happy. 

"He  is  a  splendid  catch,"  were  Mr.  Stanton's  words 
on  first  hearing  the  news.  "He  belongs  to  a  fine  solid 
family  and  you  will  have  entree  into  the  first  estab 
lishments  in  America  and  Europe." 

Helene  was  instinctively  repelled  by  the  manner  of 
his  congratulations.  Not  one  solitary  word  was 
uttered  as  to  love,  happiness,  or  the  sacred  nature  of 
marriage  itself,  not  a  regret  at  parting  with  her;  noth 
ing  but  an  adding  up  of  the  advantages  that  would 
accrue  to  him  from  a  social  point  of  view. 

"The  Van  Nesses  and  the  de  Morelles  can't  refuse 
to  meet  us  now.  We  can  snap  our  fingers  at  theml 
Bravo,  my  girl,  you  have  achieved  a  splendid  vic 
tory.  They  can't  dig  up  hidden  and  dead  scandals 


now." 


Helene  had  never  known  that  the  Van  Nesses  and 
the  de  Morelles  had  refused  to  meet  them.  She 
knew  that  several  of  the  historic  New  York  families 
did  not  make  it  a  point  to  ask  them  to  their  functions, 
but  she  had  always  thought  it  was  because  her  father 
was  personally  unpopular  with  the  more  exclusive 
set.  His  reference  to  hidden  and  dead  scandals  she 
did  not  in  the  least  understand,  for  she  had  heard 
nothing. 

"At  a  moment  like  this,"  Helene  thought,  "if  he  had 
tmly  opened  his  heart,  if  he  would  only  let  me  love 

224 


Chapter  Nineteen 

him!"  But  no,  he  had  not  shown  the  slightest  en 
couragement,  not  a  particle  of  sentiment. 

"With  your  husband's  people  and  my  money  back 
of  you,"  he  said,  "you  ought  to  become  a  leader,  noth 
ing  less  than  a  leader!  I'd  give  half  a  million  to  see 
you  take  Julia  Van  Ness's  place." 

Helene  was  disappointed.  "Oh,  father,  please  don't 
speak  of  those  things  now!  It's  not  a  question  of 
social  advantage.  It's  my  whole  future  happiness; 
my  whole  life  itself  is  involved." 

"Do  you  know,  Helene,  you  are  rather  selfish  in 
your  love  affair  as  I  suppose  you  call  it,"  cried  Mr. 
Stanton  angrily.  "My  ambition  is  for  you,  not  for 
myself." 

"I  have  no  ambition,"  said  Helene,  stifling  a  ten 
dency  to  burst  into  tears,  "that  is,  no  social  ambition. 
I  love  my  friends  and  they  love  me.  Indeed,  father, 
I  have  no  desire  to  extend  my  circle  of  acquaintances  ; 
I  can't  do  justice  to  those  I  know  now!  If  it  is  for 
my  sake  you  are  trying  to " 

At  these  words  Mr.  Stanton  completely  lost 
his  temper.  "Of  course  it  is  for  your  sake,  don't 
you  believe  me  when  I  say  so?  Please  remember 
that  I  am  your  father,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  be 
lieve  me  whether  my  statement  convinces  you  or 
not.  It  is  your  duty  to  believe  me  and  to  love 
me!" 

"God  knows  I  try  hard  enough,"  broke  from  the 
girl,  and  now  she  too  lost  control  of  herself.  "I  hate 
myself  for  saying  it,  but  it's  true,  father,  it's  true ! 
I  don't  seem  to  love  you,  not  as  most  girls  love  their 

225 


tc  JWaster 

fathers,  and  I  want  to,  I  do  so  want  to !  You  believe 
that,  don't  you,  father?" 

Mr.  Stanton  was  silent,  and  Helene  went  on:  "I 
always  feel  that  there  is  something  between  us.  I 
think  of  myself  only  as  one  of  your  possessions.  You 
were  so  good,  so  gentle  to  mother;  why  aren't  you, 
more  kind,  more  loving  to  me?" 

"Is  there  anything  you  want  that  you  do  not  get?" 
demanded  Mr.  Stanton. 

"Yes,"  cried  Helene,  "there  is  love,  love!  I  do  not 
get  it !  Your  manner  is  cold,  hard,  repellent !" 

"How  dare  you !"  shouted  her  father. 

"I  repeat  it!"  cried  Helene,  now  utterly  regardless 
of  consequences.  "Something  in  you  repels  me.  I 
came  to  you  this  morning  with  the  news  of  my  engage 
ment  of  marriage.  I  came  to  you  with  earnest  long 
ing  to  have  you  take  me  into  your  arms  and  kiss  me, 
to  have  you  congratulate  me  on  my  happiness.  In 
stead  of  this  you  repelled  me  with  cold  calculations 
as  to  the  effect  the  marriage  would  have  on  your  own 
social  position.  Oh,  father,  father!  is  that  the  way 
to  sympathise  with  a  girl?  I  have  no  mother;  you 
should  supply  her  place.  All  the  luxuries  in  this  pal 
ace  don't  make  up  to  me  for  the  lack  of  love  I  find 
in  it." 

"Is  it  my  fault  that  your  mother  died  when  you  were 
eight  years  old?"  said  Mr.  Stanton  in  a  milder  tone. 
The  reference  to  his  dead  wife  had  had  a  softening 
influence  upon  him. 

"No,  no,  father;  no,  no!  I  can't  help  thinking  of 
her  now,  that's  all !  I  need  her  now,  so  much.  I 

226 


Chapter 

have  no  one  to  go  to  but  you,  and — "  the  girl  shook 
her  head  helplessly.  "I  can  just  remember  her,  so 
delicate,  so  beautiful!  She  was  an  angel,  wasn't 
she?" 

He  nodded  assent.  "I  remember  that  she  was 
always  in  tears,  always  afraid  to  go  out  in  the  streets, 
afraid  to  be  seen,"  said  Helene  somewhat  irrelevantly. 
"You  did  love  her,  didn't  you?  I  always  feel  you 
did!  Why,  why  can't  you  love  me  as  you  did  her? 
Why  am  I  not  as  near  to  you  as  she  was  ?  Your  own 
flesh  and  blood  should  be  very  near  and  very  dear 
to  you;  especially  at  such  a  time  as  this." 

He  regarded  her  more  tenderly.  uYou  are  near 
me,"  he  said  and  kissed  her.  "Poor  little  thing,"  he 
muttered  to  himself.  "I  suppose  I  am  selfish,"  he 
said  aloud,  "but  you'll  have  my  money  some  day. 
Surely  that  should  give  you  a  great  deal  of  comfort!" 

Helene  smiled  sadly.  Her  father  seemed  incapable 
of  understanding  her.  She  could  only  shake  her  head 
and  say,  "That's  nothing,  nothing!" 

"You'll  find  it  a  great  deal,  my  girl,"  he  said. 

That  afternoon  when  her  music  master  came  he  was 
astonished  to  find  her  pensive  and  downcast  instead 
of  joyful  and  happy,  as  he  expected.  "There  has  been 
a  lovers'  quarrel,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Little  missie 
wanted  her  way  and  young  master  wanted  his.  It  is 
nothing,"  he  decided,  as  he  opened  the  music  books. 

"Have  you  studied  your  lesson?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Helene,  without  thinking. 

"Well,  do  the  best  you  can,"  he  said.  To  his  utter 
astonishment  she  played  the  whole  exercise  through 

227 


Jftustc  jfttaster 

without  looking  at  the  music,  without  any  effort  and 
without  playing  a  single  false  note. 

To  say  that  Von  Earwig  was  astounded  is  putting 
it  mildly.  He  simply  gasped  for  breath. 

"Gott  in  Himmel,  Fraulein!  Ach,  du  lieber  Gott! 
what  style,  what  touch,  what  progress!  Ah,"  and 
then  it  came  to  him  all  at  once,  "your  father  has 
come  back;  you  want  to  show  him  progress,  is  it  not? 
You  have  practised  on  the  sly,  eh?  Ah — "  and  he 
shook  his  finger  reproachfully  at  her. 

Helene  looked  at  him  and  laughed.  "If  father  was 
only  like  you,"  she  thought. 

"Yes,"  she  said  aloud.  "I  suppose  I  wanted  to 
show  my  father  the  progress  I  have  made,  so  I  prac 
tised  on  the  sly." 

"Let  us  continue,"  said  Von  Earwig,  who  was  now 
very  anxious  to  see  what  new  surprise  his  pupil  was 
going  to  give  him. 

"Have  you  arranged  with  Mrs.  Cruger  about  giv 
ing  her  nieces  lessons?"  asked  Helene,  carelessly 
striking  a  few  chords  on  the  piano. 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Von  Earwig,  "I  am  to  go  next 
week."  Then  he  added  with  a  little  laugh,  "The 
young  ladies  postpone  me  as  long  as  possible." 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Den 
ning,  the  under-butler,  who  informed  Miss  Stanton 
that  her  father  wished  to  see  her  in  the  library.  Von 
Earwig  saw  a  downcast  expression  on  Helene's  face 
as  she  left  the  room.  "Perhaps  he  does  not  approve 
of  the  marriage,  this  Mr.  Stanton.  Well,  I  dol" 
he  said  with  emphasis.  "I  do,  and  I  am  determined 

228 


Chapter  Nineteen 

that  she  shall  marry  the  man  of  her  choice.  He  is 
a  splendid  fellow,  fully  worthy  of  her.  If  this  father 
interferes,  I  shall —  Let  me  see,  what  shall  I  do?" 

Von  Earwig  laughed  at  his  own  foolishness  in 
\  allowing  his  thoughts  to  run  on  unchecked.  Somehow 
they  always  led  him  into  a  ridiculous  position  from 
which  he  could  never  extricate  himself. 

"I  shall  tell  this  father,"  he  went  on  in  a  more  com 
promising  vein  of  thought,  "I  shall  tell  him  that  his 
daughter's  happiness  is  at  stake,  and  that  he  must 
not  allow  personal  considerations  to  interfere  with 
that  happiness.  Then  he  will  have  me  flung  out  of 
his  house.  No,  thank  you,  Earwig,  you  will  not 
speak;  but  none  the  less  that  is  what  I  think!  Her 
happiness  first,  last  and  all  the  time.  Let  me  tell 
you  a  secret,  Mr.  Stanton,"  said  Von  Earwig  men 
tally.  His  thoughts  rushed  him  along  pell-mell  now 
and  he  followed  them,  thoroughly  enjoying  the  men 
tal  pictures  they  brought  up.  "Let  me  tell  you  my 
secret,  Mr.  Stanton !  She  is  my  daughter  as  well  as 
yours.  I  have  adopted  her.  She  does  not  know  it, 
nor  do  you,  but  I  do!  She  has  taken  the  place  of 
my  own  little  one  and  I  love  her,  Mr.  Stanton.  I 
love  her  just  as  much,  aye,  even  more  than  you  do, 
sir,  and  this  love  gives  me  the  right  tc  speak.  You 
shall  not  interfere  with  her  happiness !  Do  you  hear 
me,  sir?" 

Von  Earwig  had  now  lashed  himself  into  a  whirl 
wind  of  imaginary  indignation  and  was  pacing  up 
and  down  the  music  room;  his  thoughts  completely 
engrossing  him.  They  were  the  only  realities  in  life 

229 


ic  JHasrter 

to  him  now,  these  thoughts,  and  he  treasured  them 
as  philosophers  do  the  truths  of  existence.  All  at 
once  his  eye  caught  a  pile  of  music  that  lay  on  the 
table  next  to  Miss  Stanton's  dolls'  cabinet  in  the 
corner  of  the  room  opposite  the  piano.  He  observed 
the  Beethoven  Concerto  for  pianoforte  which  had 
Helene  Stanton's  name  on  it,  also  the  C  Minor  and 
F  Minor  concertos  of  Chopin,  besides  other  com 
positions  for  pianoforte  of  an  exceedingly  difficult 
character;  all  this  music  was  marked  with  her  name 
and  the  date. 

"There  must  be  some  mistake,"  he  thought,  as  he 
read  the  names.  "She  cannot  play  these  difficult 
compositions,  surely!  It  may  be  her  mother  had 
played  them,  but  no,  they  are  dated  within  a  year 
or  so  of  the  present  day!" 

Everything  was  explained  to  him  now.  He  was  no 
longer  surprised  at  the  unaccountable  unevenness  of 
her  playing.  She  had  deceived  him.  "Why,  why?" 
he  wondered. 

Then  it  came  to  him.  "Of  course!  Fool,  dolt, 
idiot !  she  wanted  to  benefit  you,  so  she  pretends  she 
cannot  play  and  takes  lessons  she  does  not  need.  But 
why  should  she  wish  to  befriend  you,  why?" 

Von  Barwig  was  silent  a  long  time.  "Why,  why?" 
he  kept  asking  himself  and  his  thoughts  could  get  no 
further.  "Am  I  dreaming?"  He  looked  around. 
"Is  it  all  a  dream?  Do  I  merely  believe  these  things 
happen,  or  are  they  real?  Sometimes  these  people 
seem  like  phantoms  of  the  past;  phantoms  that  come 
and  vanish  like  the  thoughts  that  give  them  existence. 

210 


Chapter 

There  seems  to  be  no  substance  in  them.  But  real 
or  phantom,  dreaming  or  waking,  my  love  for  her 
is  real.  That  is  God's  truth!  I  feel  it,  I  know  it! 
I  love  her,  I  love  her  I  Of  that  alone  I  am  certain. 
*)  That  is  truth,  if  nothing  else  is  I" 

In  the  meantime,  Helene  found  her  father  awaiting 
her  in  the  library.  Mr.  Stanton  was  in  very  excellent 
spirits. 

"Why  did  you  trouble  to  come  down,  my  dear  child? 
I  intended  to  come  up  and  see  you,"  he  said  as  she 
entered  the  door.  "I  told  Denning  to  find  out  if  you 
could  receive  me;  servants  are  so  stupid!" 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter!  I  was  only  taking  a  music 
lesson." 

"Yes,  so  Denning  said.  I  didn't  know  you'd  taken 
up  your  musical  studies  again,"  and  then  before 
Helene  could  reply,  he  went  on : 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,  I  want  to  ask,  no,  not  ask;  I 
want  to  make  a  suggestion.  I  want  you  to  do  some 
thing  for  my  sake.  The  spring  has  fairly  set  in;  in 
a  few  weeks  it  will  be  summer,  and  I  may  want  to 
go  abroad  again.  Can  you  arrange  to  have 
your  marriage  take  place  late  in  June  or  early  in 
July?" 

"No,  father'"  replied  Helene  in  a  somewhat  decided 
tone.  "I  am  sorry,"  she  added  quickly,  as  she  saw 
an  expression  of  disappointment  in  his  face. 

"Why  not,  may  I  ask?"  inquired  her  father 

"Because  Beverly  is  engaged  in  Washington  at  the 
State  Department.  The  secretary  has  promised  him 
an  under-secretaryship  in  one  of  the  European  embas- 

231 


Jflustc 

sies  if  his  work  there  is  satisfactory,  and  our  marriage 
would  interrupt  his  work." 

"Not  necessarily,"  said  Mr.  Stanton.  "Besides  he 
doesn't  need  any  career!  He  will  have  plenty  of 
money,  and " 

"I  don't  think  all  the  money  in  the  world  would  be 
sufficient  to  support  Beverly  Cruger  in  idleness,"  re 
sponded  Helene  with  some  spirit.  "The  Crugers  are 
not  well  off,  and  he  refuses  to  accept  anything  from 
his  father;  and  as  for  living  on  my  income,  it's  out  of 
the  question,  father!  He  insists  on  earning  his  own 
living  and  working  out  his  own  career." 

"Well,  after  all,  that  shows  a  good  spirit,"  said  Mr. 
Stanton,  "but  I  really  don't  see  how  an  early  mar 
riage  would  interfere  with  his  resolutions  on  that 
point.  He  could  go  on  working." 

"His  income  is  insufficient  just  at  present,"  said 
Helene,  "and  it  will  be  until  next  year.  The  mar 
riage  cannot  take  place  till  then.  I  am  sorry." 

"Some  time  next  winter,  eh?  That's  a  long  time, 
Helene;  so  many  things  may  happen,"  said  Mr. 
Stanton  thoughtfully. 

"What  could  happen?"  asked  Helene  in  surprise. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  don't  know;  I'm  nervous  and  apprehensive.  I 
want  to  see  you  married  and  settled,"  replied  her 
father  almost  peevishly,  as  if  he  didn't  want  to  go 
into  explanations.  "I've  a  curious  notion  that  I  want 
to  see  you  married  and  settled.  It's  a — a — my 
anxiety  for  you,  Helene,"  added  Mr.  Stanton,  forcing 
a  smile. 

2.12 


Cfjapter  Jlineteen 

"You're  very  kind,"  repeated  Helene.  She  did  not 
understand  her  father  in  the  least.  He  seemed  to 
be  afraid  of  something,  his  manner  was  distinctly 
apprehensive.  She  moved  slowly  toward  the  door, 
deep  in  thought. 

"Are  you  going?"  asked  Mr.  Stanton. 

"My  music  master  is  waiting  for  me,"  replied 
Helene. 

"Your  music  master?  Oh,  yes,  you  said  you'd 
taken  up  your  studies  again." 

Helene  smiled.  "You  can  hardly  call  it  taking  up 
my  studies,"  she  said.  "Herr  Von  Earwig  just — so 
to  speak — goes  over;  I  hardly  know  how  to  describe 
it.  I  think  he  tries  to  improve  my  technique." 

Was  it  imagination  or  had  her  father  turned  ashen 
pale?  He  looked  at  her,  barely  able  to  speak;  he 
seemed  to  have  received  an  awful  shock  and  he  was 
gasping  for  breath.  What  had  happened?  There 
was  a  pause  during  which  Helene  wondered  why 
she  had  not  noticed  before  how  pale  and  ill  her 
father  looked,  and  how  his  hands  trembled. 

"What  did  you  say  was  his  name?"  asked  Mr.  Stan- 
ton,  barely  able  to  repress  the  emotion  in  his  voice. 

"Professor  Von  Earwig.     Oh,  he's  not  known  here , 
as  well  as  he  was  in  Germany!     What's  the  matter, 
father?"  she  cried  out  as  the  man  almost  tottered  into 
his  chair.     "Father,  father!  what  is  it?" 

"Nothing,  nothing;  what  should  be  the  matter?  I 
— these  attacks  come  periodically  now.  A  little  heart 
trouble — it  will  soon  pass  away.  Ring  for  Joles!" 

She  obeyed  him  instantly. 

233 


faster 

"Good  God,  good  God!  Is  it  possible?  Right  un 
der  my  own  roof!"  muttered  Stanton,  "and  with  her! 
Oh,  God!" 

"I  rang  for  him,  father,"  said  Helene,  looking  at 
him  anxiously. 

"It's  Ditson  I  want  to  see.  Ditson,  Ditson!  not 
'Joles."  Then  he  added  quickly,  "No,  I  don't  want 
to  see  any  one!  I'm  better  now;  these  attacks 
pass  away  quickly.  Sit  down,  my  dear  child;  I 
want  to  talk  to  you.  What  were  you  saying?" 
he  asked,  anxious  to  hear  and  yet  not  wishing 
to  arouse  her  suspicion  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
anxiety. 

"Nothing  of  any  importance,  father." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  insist!  Go  right  on  with  our  conversa 
tion  where  we  left  off.  You  were  speaking  of  your — 
your — musical  professor,  Anton  Von  Earwig."  Mr. 
Stanton  had  almost  completely  recovered  himself 
now. 

"How  did  you  know  his  first  name,  father?" 

"You  mentioned  it,  you  must  have  done  so,"  said 
Mr.  Stanton  quickly.  "Yes,  I  remember  you  did! 
When  you  first  mentioned  his  name,  you  called  him 
Anton.  And  he  is  upstairs,"  added  her  father  with  a 
curious  laugh,  "in  this  house." 

Helene  thought  his  manner  most  strange.  He  was 
regarding  her  now  with  a  curious,  searching  gaze. 
*'He  can  have  told  her  nothing,"  he  muttered,  "he 
must  be  as  ignorant  of  the  truth  as  she  is.  Good  God, 
what  a  coincidence!" 

Joles  came  and  Ditson  was  sent  for.  When  the  con- 

234 


Cfjapter  JJtneteen 

fidential  secretary  arrived,  Mr.  Stanton  and  he  went 
into  the  private  study.  Helene  followed  them. 

"Will  you  need  me  any  more,  father?"  she  asked 
anxiously. 

"No,  no !"  replied  Mr.  Stanton. 

Helene  went  out  and  closed  the  door.  As  she 
reached  the  stairway  she  heard  the  key  turn  in 
the  lock.  "Why  does  he  lock  himself  in?" 
she  thought.  When  Helene  returned  to  the  music 
room  she  found  her  music  master  waiting  patiently 
for  her. 

"Forgive  me  for  keeping  you  waiting!"  she  said. 

"There  is  great  pleasure  even  in  waiting  for  those 
we  love;  we  love  to  teach,  I  should  say,"  he  added 
quickly. 

Inwardly  Helene  found  herself  contrasting  her 
father  with  this  man.  "If  only  he  had  the  tender 
ness,  the  lovable  qualities  of  this  old  musician,"  she 
thought,  "how  I  could  love  him!"  As  he  was  taking 
his  leave,  her  eye  caught  the  music  on  top  of  the  cabi 
net  and  in  a  moment  she  saw  it  had  been  disturbed. 
She  looked  quickly  at  Von  Earwig,  but  he  gave  no 
sign  that  he  knew  of  its  existence. 

"I  hope  some  day  to  be  able  to  play  those  composi 
tions  for  you,"  she  said,  pointing  to  them. 

"Yes,"  replied  Von  Earwig  with  a  smile.     "I  hope 


so." 


"I'll  surprise  you  some  day,"  she  added. 

"Yes,"  said  Von  Earwig  simply,  and  he  determined 
to  allow  her  to  surprise  him.  "Good-bye!"  he  said, 
bowing.  She  held  out  her  hand. 

235 


jfflusic  jllasiter 

"Good-bye !"  she  replied  almost  tenderly. 

"To-morrow  at  the  same  time?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"Yes,  of  course." 

Von  Earwig  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief.  "She  is  not 
'angry,"  he  thought.  "And  it  will  very  soon  be  to- 
'morrow  I" 


338 


Chapter 

s  Von  Earwig  walked  down  Fifth  Avenue  on  his' 
way  home  to  his  lodgings  in  Houston  Street  he 
could  not  help  contrasting  his  present  happy  ex 
istence  with  the  miserably  hopeless  state  in  which  he 
had  found  himself  on  his  first  arrival  in  New  York. 
"And  it  is  to  her,  Miss  Stanton,  that  I  owe  all  this 
blessedness.  I  am  a  changed  man,"  he  said  to  himself, 
almost  gaily,  "I  live,  I  enjoy,  for  to-morrow  I  shall 
see  her  again.  To  live  that  one  hour  of  restful  blessed 
ness,"  he  thought,  "is  well  worth  the  bare  existence 
of  the  other  twenty-three."  His  friends  felt  the 
change,  too.  They  all  knew  that  something  had  hap 
pened,  that  something  had  entered  the  life  of  the  old 
professor  and  changed  it,  but  not  one  of  them  at 
tempted  to  pry  into  his  secret. 

"Ma  foi,"  said  Pinac,  "he  shall  tell  himself  if  he 
wants  to.  If  not,  he  shall  not!" 

Fico's  reply  was  characteristic  of  that  Italian's  sunny 
disposition,  and  it  inverted  a  familiar  saying. 

"What  the  hell  we  care,  so  long  as  he  is  happy,"  he 
said. 

Poons  loved  Von  Earwig  as  a  son,  but  the  best  of 
sons  are  self-centred  when  they  are  in  love;  and 
Poons  saw  nothing. 

Jenny  was  silent,  she  felt  that  she  had  lost  her  dear 
professor,  but  with  that  spirit  of  sacrifice  of  which 
woman  alone  is  capable,  she  resigned  her  place  in  his 


heart  to  another.  Be  it  said  to  her  credit  there  was  not 
a  jealous  pang,  not  a  moment  of  envy,  nothing  but 
mournful  regret  and  sweet  resignation  to  the  inevita 
ble.  As  a  mother  gives  her  son  to  another  woman  in 
i marriage,  so  did  Jenny  give  up  Von  Earwig;  to  whom 
she  knew  not,  nor  did  she  seek  to  know. 

His  secret  was  sacred  to  all  his  friends,  all,  save  one, 
and  this  solitary  exception  led  to  a  slight  change  in 
the  Houston  Street  establishment.  It  came  about  as 
follows : 

"When  a  man  comes  home  with  orchids  pinned  to 
his  coat,"  confided  Mrs.  Mangenborn  to  her  friend 
Miss  Husted,  "it  looks  as  if  it  was  only  a  question  of 
time  when  he  would  move  uptown  into  more  elegant 
apartments.  Orchids  in  winter  only  goes  with  blue 
diamonds  and  yellowbacks !" 

Miss  Husted  shook  her  head.  "Move  upstairs  more 
likely  than  uptown,"  replied  that  lady  regretfully. 
"Why,  the  poor  old  gentleman  don't  even  get  enough 
to  eat.  You  mark  my  word  for  it,  some  day  he's 
going  to  keel  over!  Only  yesterday  morning  I  had 
to  beg  him  almost  on  my  bended  knees  to  join  us  at 
dinner  and  then  he  only  came  in  to  oblige  me.  He 
ate  scarcely  anything,  poor  dear!" 

"Does  he  pay  regularly?"  inquired  Mrs.  Mangen 
born,  with  a  lack  of  sympathy  noted  by  her 
friend. 

"As  regularly  as  clockwork,"  snapped  Miss  Husted. 
"Half  price,  But  how  long  will  he  be  able  to  pay  even 
that?  Only  three  pupils,  and  only  one  of  them  pays 
him  in  cash.  Oh,  how  people  round  here  have 

238 


Chapter 

changed  since  I  first  came  here;  how  much  they  do 
expect  for  their  money  nowadays !" 

"He's  out  every  afternoon,  regularly.  He's  out 
evenings  with  his  fiddle;  home  at  four  in  the  morn 
ing,  he  doesn't  do  that  for  nothing.  I  don't  think  he 
tells  all  he  knows,"  concluded  Mrs.  Mangenborn  with 
a  significant  wink  of  the  eye,  which  brought  her  fat 
cheek  very  close  to  her  eyebrow. 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Husted  with  a  sigh,  "of  course 
it's  no  business  of  mine  where  he  goes  and  what  he 
does,  but — whatever  it  is,  it's  all  right!  That  you 
can  depend  on,  it  is  all  right." 

This  was  intended  to  be  a  rebuke  to  Mrs.  Mangen 
born,  but  it  was  entirely  lost  on  that  lady,  for  with 
the  very  next  breath  she  said  bluntly:  "Why  don't 
you  ask  him?" 

Miss  Husted  set  her  lips  firmly  together,  and  this 
movement  might  have  warned  a  less  obtuse  person. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  him?"  repeated  Mrs.  Mangen 
born. 

"Because,"  replied  Miss  Husted,  with  more  temper 
than  she  had  ever  exhibited  before  to  her  friend,  "be 
cause,  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  it's  none  of  my  business!" 

There  was  a  slight  pause. 

"Not  wishing  to  give  you  a  short  answer,  my  dear," 
supplemented  Miss  Husted,  sorry  that  she  had  been 
compelled  to  take  extreme  measures  to  stay  her 
friend's  curiosity. 

To  her  utter  surprise  Mrs.  Mangenborn  still  per 
sisted. 

"Well,  it  is  your  business,  in  a  sense,"  went  on  that 

239 


Jflustc  Jflaafer 

lady.  "This  is  your  house,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  see 
that  it  is  conducted  respectably!" 

"Respectably?  Am  I  to  understand,  Mrs.  Mangen- 
born,  that  you  intend  to  convey  a  hint  that  my  house 
is  not  conducted  respectably?"  demanded  Miss 
Husted.  Her  back  at  this  moment  could  not  have 
been  straighter  had  she  been  leaning  against  the  wall. 

"Why,  no  !"^  assented  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  who  saw 
that  she  had  gone  a  little  too  far.  "I  merely  said  that 
it  was  your  duty,  and  so  it  is  1  People  should  always 
do  their  duty,"  she  added  somewhat  vaguely. 

"I  trust  I  know  my  duty,  Mrs.  Mangenborn,"  said 
Miss  Husted  severely,  "nor  do  I  require  to  be  put  in 
the  path  of  my  duty  by  anybody,  be  it  he,  or  be  it  she, 
be  it  transient,  or  be  it  permanent." 

This  was  a  direct  shot  and  Mrs.  Mangenborn  gave 
signs  that  it  had  gone  home;  for  she  arose.  "I  am 
very  sorry,"  she  said  with  heavy-weight  dignity,  "I 
am  very  sorry." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  sorry  for,  only  this,  Mrs. 
Mangenborn!  I'd  like  it  to  be  thoroughly  under 
stood  that  no  person  in  this  living  world  can  besmirch 
the  character  of  Professor  Von  Earwig  without  be 
smirching  me,"  and  Miss  Husted  folded  her  arms 
'somewhat  defiantly. 

"Oh,  Miss  Husted,  Miss  Husted,  how  can  you  say 
such  a  thing !  Did  I  besmirch  even  a  particle  of  his 
character?  Just  prove  your  words,  please;  did  I,  did 
I?" 

Mrs.  Mangenborn  now  came  slightly  closer  to  Miss 
Husted  and  for  a  moment  it  looked  as  though  there 

240 


Cftapter 

would  be   a  personal  altercation  between  the   two 
ladies. 

"You  said  that  his  hours  were  not  respectable  hours, 
and  that  he  didn't  tell  all  he  knew,  and — and — oh,  I 
can't  remember  all  you  said,  Mrs.  Mangenborn,  nor 
does  it  matter  in  the  least !  Pray,  why  should  he  tell 
all  he  knows?  It's  no  lady's  business — what  he 
knows  I  For  that  matter,  do  you  tell  all  you  know  ? 
No,"  went  on  Miss  Husted,  now  thoroughly  aroused, 
"but  you  tell  a  great  many  things  that  you  don't 
know!  Not  one  of  your  fortunes  has  come  true, 
lately,  not  one!" 

The  cards  had  toppled  over,  there  were  no  more 
fortunes  in  them,  and  Mrs.  Mangenborn  saw  that 
her  reign  had  come  to  an  end. 

"I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  question  any  further," 
she  said  loftily,  and  giving  a  wide  sweep  to  her  skirts 
she  added  somewhat  grandiloquently: 

"Kindly  send  my  bill  to  my  room,  and  please  con 
sider  yourself  at  perfect  liberty  to  dispose  of  it  to 
some  one  else." 

"With  great  pleasure,  Mrs.  Mangenborn,"  replied 
Miss  Husted,  "with  very  great  pleasure!  And  I 
may  add  I  was  going  to  ask  you  for  your  room  this 
very  evening." 

Mrs.  Mangenborn's  only  answer  was  a  loud  and 
prolonged  laugh,  which  she  kept  up  all  the  way  to  her 
room  and  which  only  ceased  when  she  had  shut  her 
door  with  a  loud  bang. 

"Good  riddance!"  thought  Miss  Husted,  "a  very 
good  riddance !" 

241 


Thus  the  friendship  of  years  was  sundered. 

At  this  precise  moment  the  innocent  object  of  their 
strife  let  himself  in  at  the  front  door. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Professor  Von  Earwig,  I  was  just 
thinking  of  you,"  said  Miss  Husted,  as  she  followed 
him  into  his  rooms.  "I've  got  rid  of  her  at  last;  Mrs. 
Mangenborn  is  going." 

Von  Earwig  smiled.  "Is  she?"  he  said  simply,  "I 
am  glad  for  your  sake.  Now  you  will  be  mistress  of 
your  own  establishment." 

"I  was  always  mistress  of  my  own  establishment, 
professor,"  replied  Miss  Husted  with  dignity.  "Al 
ways." 

"Except  sometimes  when  the  cards  would  direct  the 
policy  of  the  house,"  said  Von  Earwig.  "Whenever 
there  is  a  superstition,  dear  lady,"  he  went  on,  "there 
is  no  freedom !  We  become  slaves  of  our  own  be 
liefs." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  she's  going,  anyway,"  said  Miss 
Husted,  not  quite  comprehending,  but  not  wishing  to 
dispute  with  Von  Earwig.  "Why,  professor!"  and 
Miss  Husted  started.  She  had  just  noticed  that  his 
clothes  and  books  were  packed  into  bundles,  as  if 
ready  to  be  carried  away.  "Professor,  professor!" 
she  gasped,  "what  is  the  meaning  of  that?"  and  she 
pointed  to  a  big  stack  of  music  tied  up,  "and  that, 
and  that,  and  that,"  pointing  to  various  articles. 

"It  means,  dear  lady,  that  I'm  going  to  move,"  said 
Von  Earwig  complacently. 

"Move!"  almost  shrieked  Miss  Husted, 

"Yes,  as  the  top  floor  will  not  come  down  to  me,  I 

242 


Chapter 

shall  move  up  to  the  top  floor.  You  see  I  am  nearly 
all  ready.  Pinac  and  Fico  will  help  me;  and  up  I 
shall  go !  It  is  one  way  of  getting  up  in  the  world, 
eh,  Miss  Husted?"  he  said  with  a  little  laugh,  and  he 
looked  at  her  as  if  he  expected  her  to  laugh,  too,  but 
she  did  not  join  in  his  merriment. 

"There's  no  room  upstairs,"  she  said  at  last,  as  if 
determined  he  should  not  go. 

"Oh,  yes,  in  the  hallway;  a  nice  little  room,  large 
enough  for  my  wants." 

"But  that  is  a  storeroom,"  cried  Miss  Husted. 

"When  I  occupy  it,  it  will  be  a  bedroom,"  laughed 
Von  Earwig,  "and  just  think,"  he  added,  "I  shall  be 
nearer  my  friends !  They  can  visit  me  without  run 
ning  up  and  down  stairs.  I  shall  have  additional  ad 
vantages,  at  a  less  rental." 

Miss  Husted  looked  at  him  sorrowfully.  She  knew 
it  was  useless  to  argue  with  him,  so  she  gave  her  con 
sent,  but  insisted  on  taking  a  very  small  sum  for  her 
room.  And  so  Von  Earwig  moved  from  the  ground 
floor  to  the  attic.  This  floor  with  its  huge  atelier 
window  on  the  roof  and  its  stair  running  down  at  the 
back  had  been  used  by  an  artist  on  account  of  the 
splendid  light.  Although  a  hallway,  it  was  fitted  up 
as  a  room.  There  was  a  stove,  a  sink,  a  large  cup 
board,  and  other  conveniences  for  light  housekeeping. 
There  were  four  bedroom  doors  opening  into  this 
hallway,  three  of  which  were  occupied  by  Pinac,  Fico 
and  Poons,  and  the  fourth  Von  Earwig  took  possession 
of.  They  all  begged  him  to  take  their  rooms,  but  he 
shook  his  head  and  smiled  and  they  knew  it  was  us*- 

243 


k  JHasrter 

less  to  ask  him,  so  the  skylight  musketeers,  as  they 
called  themselves,  had  complete  possession  of  the  hall, 
which  served  them  as  a  common  parlour. 

It  was  roomy  and  airy  in  the  summer,  but  draughty 
and  cold  in  the  winter;  as  it  was  now  warm  weather, 
Von  Earwig  and  his  friends  did  not  suffer  any  incon 
venience  at  this  time.  The  men  did  not  see  much  of 
each  other  in  these  days.  Pinac  and  Fico  had  secured 
engagements  on  an  excursion  steamboat  that  plied  its 
way  to  Coney  Island  and  back.  They  were  away  all 
day,  and  when  they  came  back  late  at  night  Von  Bar- 
wig  was  at  the  Museum.  He  saw  more  of  Poons  than 
he  did  of  the  others,  for  that  young  man  had  no  reg 
ular  engagement,  but  played  now  and  then  as  substi 
tute  in  one  of  the  downtown  theatre  orchestras,  so  he 
just  about  managed  to  eke  out  an  existence  on  a  cash 
basis,  and  the  three  older  men  were  as  proud  of  this 
fact  as  if  he  were  their  own  son.  Von  Earwig  was 
strangely  happy;  he  took  no  interest  whatever  in  his 
physical  existence.  His  immediate  surroundings,  the 
people  he  saw,  the  food  he  ate,  made  no  mental  im 
pression  upon  him.  Life  was  a  mechanical  process,  a 
routine  existence  to  him  till  midday,  when  he  would, 
to  quote  his  own  words,  ubegin  to  live,"  that  is,  he 
would  start  uptown  on  his  walk  to  Fifty-seventh 
Street.  Rain  or  shine  he  would  not  ride,  for  the  mo 
tion  of  riding  on  the  bumpy  stages  interfered  with 
the  flow  of  his  thoughts.  "Now  begins  my  day/'  he 
would  say  to  himself  as  he  started  on  his  journey  to 
his  pupil's  house,  some  four  or  five  miles  from  Miss 
Husted's  establishment.  The  old  man  was  happy; 

244 


Chapter  Stoentp 

happy  in  going,  happy  when  there,  happy  when  think 
ing  that  the  next  day  he  would  see  her  again.  So 
when,  for  the  third  successive  time,  in  as  many  days, 
Joles  informed  him  that  Miss  Stanton  was  not  at 
^horne,  Von  Earwig  experienced  a  feeling  of  disap 
pointment  accompanied  by  a  sense  of  fear. 

"She — Miss  Stanton  is  well?"  faltered  he  to  the 
dignified  Mr.  Joles,  who  was  regarding  him  with  a 
haughty  expression,  not  unaccompanied  with  disdain. 

"I  beg  your  pardon !"  said  Joles  in  anything  but  an 
apologetic  manner. 

"Miss  Stanton  is  well?"  repeated  Von  Earwig. 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Joles.  "Indeed,  yes."  His  an 
swer  intended  to  convey  to  Von  Earwig  that  such  a 
question  was  entirely  unnecessary,  not  to  say  uncalled 
for. 

"It's  very  strange,"  Von  Earwig  mused  as  he  walked 
home.  "She  always  writes  me  a  little  note  or  leaves 
a  message  for  me  with  one  of  the  servants,  letting 
me  know  when  to  come  for  the  next  lesson." 

Then  he  tried  to  assure  himself  that  it  was  all 
right,  that  in  the  stress  of  her  social  obligations  she 
had  forgotten. 

"It's  all  right,  Earwig,  you  make  yourself  miserable 
for  nothing.  You  expect  too  much.  She  is  a  petted, 
pampered,  feted  young  lady  of  fortune,  the  daughter 
of  a  Croesus;  do  you  think  she  can  always  think  of 
you?  Who  are  you  that  she  should  spare  you  so 
much  time?  You  overrate  yourself;  you — you 
idiot."  People  stopped  in  the  streets  to  look  at  the 
old  man,  who  was  walking  so  rapidly  and  gesticulat- 

241 


ing  so  excitedly.  When  Von  Earwig  saw  that  he  was 
observed,  he  calmed  down.  "It's  all  right,"  he  said. 
"To-morrow !  I  shall  see  her  to-morrow !" 

That  evening  at  the  Museum  the  night  professor 
was  strangely  inattentive.  So  deeply  wras  he  en 
grossed  in  his  own  thoughts  that  he  entirely  forgot 
to  play  when  Bosco  was  announced.  He  was  re 
warded  by  that  young  lady  with  a  look  that  was  in 
tended  to  annihilate  him  on  the  spot,  but  the  pro 
fessor  did  not  happen  to  be  looking  that  way.  "She 
will  be  there  to-morrow,  or  she  will  leave  a  message," 
he  was  saying  to  himself. 

"Bites  their  heads  off;  bites  their  heads  off!  Holy 
gee!  Don't  you  hear,  profess'?  It's  her  cue,"  came 
in  thundering  tones  from  the  throat  of  Mr.  Al  Cos- 
tello.  "What  the  hell's  the  matter,  profess'?  Eats 
'em  alive,  eats  'em  alive!"  he  bawled,  glaring  at  Von 
Earwig,  and  then  the  night  professor  "found  him 
self." 

"Oh,  my  gracious,"  he  thought  as  he  banged  on  the 
piano — the  chords  intended  to  depict  musically  the 
armless  wonder's  cannibalistic  proclivities.  Bosco 
not  only  bit  their  heads  off,  she  bit  her  lips  with  vexa 
tion.  It  was  too  late;  not  a  hand  applauded  when 
she  came  on  and  the  fat  lady  laughed  aloud  and 
fanned  herself  vigorously.  She  hated  Miss  Bosco, 
who,  being  a  headliner,  had  lorded  it  over  the  rest 
of  the  unfortunate  freaks  in  a  manner  deeply  re 
sented  by  them;  so  the  fat  lady  was  glad  to  see  Bos- 
co's  act  fall  down.  The  skeleton  looked  wise  and 
tapped  his  bony  forehead  with  his  bony  fingers. 

246 


Chapter 

"Dippy,"  he  articulated.  "All  musicians  are  dippy," 
he  added. 

The  midgets  looked  serious,  for  they  loved  the  pro 
fessor.  Tears  started  in  the  little  lady's  eyes;  she 
expected  a  storm,  for  she  was  terribly  afraid  of 
Bosco. 

"I  do  hope  that  Mr.  Costello  won't  haul  him  over 
the  coals,"  said  the  albino  to  the  tattooed  girl.  "He's 
such  a  nice  old  guy!" 

After  the  show  Mr.  Costello  listened  to  Von  Bar- 
wig's  apology  in  silence,  and  silence  meant  a  great 
deal  of  self-restraint  for  him. 

"It's  all  right  if  she  don't  raise  a  holler,"  he  said, 
taking  his  diamond  ring  off  his  necktie  and  placing 
it  on  his  finger  for  the  night.  "But  you  must  keep 
awake,  see?  It  looks  like  blazes  to  see  the  profess' 
asleep !  It  not  only  sets  the  audience  a  bad  example, 
but  it  looks  as  if  we  was  givin'  a  bum  show."  Then 
he  added  warningly,  "We  had  one  profess'  last  year 
who  went  to  sleep  on  us  regular,  and  snored  so  that 
we  used  his  noise  instead  of  the  snare  drums.  Well, 
we  left  him  sound  asleep  after  the  show  one  night  and 
turned  the  lights  off.  When  he  woke  up  he  thought 
the  wax  figures  was  ghosts,  and  he  threw  a  fit  right 
on  the  piano.  Holy  Mackerel !  It  took  nearly  two 
quarts  of  whiskey  to  get  him  right  for  the  next  show; 
so  don't  do  it  again,  profess',"  he  ended  solemnly. 
Von  Barwig  promised  that  he  would  not — but  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  just  as  soon  as  terms  for  teach 
ing  Mrs.  Cruger's  nieces  were  arranged,  he  would 
at  once  give  Mr.  Costello  notice  of  his  determina- 

247 


tion  to  resign  from  the  night  professorship  at  the 
Museum.  This  thought  contributed  in  no  small  de 
gree  to  his  peace  of  mind,  for  he  had  begun  to  loathe 
the  very  thought  of  this  place. 

When  Von  Earwig  arrived  home  he  found  a  letter 
on  the  hall  table.  He  went  up  to  his  little  room,  lit' 
the  candle,  sat  down  on  his  bed  and  read  the  follow- 
ing: 

"Mrs.  Cruger  presents  her  compliments  to  Herr 
Von  Earwig,  and  regrets  to  inform  him  that  unex 
pected  circumstances  have  arisen  which  will  obviate 
the  necessity  of  his  calling  upon  her  in  regard  to  her 
nieces'  studies." 

"Very  well,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  folded  up 
the  letter.  "I  shall  have  more  time  to  think  of  her," 
and  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  peacefully. 

A  week  elapsed.  Each  day  he  had  patiently  gone  up 
town  to  Miss  Stanton's  house.  He  had  started  out 
full  of  hope  and  returned  home  in  despair.  On  each 
occasion  he  had  been  informed  by  Mr.  Joles  that 
Miss  Stanton  was  out,  that  she  had  left  no  message 
for  him,  and  that  he  did  not  know  when  she  would 
return.  Finally  he  wrote  to  her  and  waited  patiently 
for  an  answer;  but  there  was  no  word.  The  old 
man's  hope  of  seeing  her  again  gradually  grew 
smaller  and  smaller  until  at  last  the  old  feeling  of 
dull  despair,  the  old  gnawing  pain  of  unsatisfied  af 
fection  came  back  to  him  again.  "I  am  doomed,"  he 
thought;  "doomed  to  live  my  life  alone !"  He  would 
sit  for  hours  and  hours  and  try  to  think  out  why  she 
did  not  see  him,  why  she  did  not  answer  his  letter. 

248 


Chapter 

Was  she  away?  If  so,  why  did  she  not  let  him  know? 
Had  she  found  out  that  he  played  in  a  Bowery 
museum?  Or  did  she  suspect  that  he  knew  that  she 
did  not  need  lessons?  If  so,  was  that  sufficient  cause 
for  her  neglect?  No,  he  could  not  reason  it  out  on 
those  lines  1  Why  did  Mrs.  Cruger  send  him  a  note! 
dismissing  him  after  practically  promising  to  engage 
him  as  music  master  to  her  nieces?  Did  Mrs.  Cruger 
dismiss  him  at  all,  or  had  circumstances  arisen  that 
obviated  the  necessity  of  engaging  him?  Was  it 
merely  a  coincidence  that  she  should  dismiss  him  at 
the  same  time  that  Helcne  avoided  seeing  him  ?  Were 
these  two  conditions  in  any  way  connected  with  each 
other?  Was  Helene  really  trying  to  avoid  him?  Had 
she  received  his  letter?  Did  she  really  know?  This 
last  question  gave  him  much  comfort  and  he  per 
sistently  dwelt  on  that  phase  of  the  situation.  To  De- 
lieve  that  she  knew ;  it  was  inconceivable  to  him.  She 
would  surely  have  written.  "Did  I  address  the  let 
ters  properly?  Did  I  put  stamps  on?"  he  asked  him 
self.  "There  is  a  mistake  somewhere,  he  concluded; 
a  mistake  that  time  will  surely  adjust." 

The  next  day,  after  going  through  the  usual  per 
formance  of  asking  for  Miss  Stanton  and  being  in 
formed  by  Mr.  Joles  of  the  young  lady's  absence, 
Von  Earwig  ventured  to  extend  the  field  of  his  in 
quiry. 

"Is  Mr.  Stanton  in?"  he  asked  in  a  low  7oice, 
scarcely  knowing  why  he  should  ask  for  her  father,, 
or  what  he  should  say  if  he  was  fortunate  enough  to 
obtain  an  interview  with  him. 

249 


"Mr.  Stanton!"  repeated  Mr.  Joles,  almost  horri 
fied  at  the  idea  of  Von  Earwig's  asking  for  his 
master. 

"Mr.  Stanton?"  he  repeated.  "Have  you  an  ap 
pointment  with  him?" 

Von  Earwig  admitted  that  he  had  not. 

"Mr.  Stanton  sees  no  one  without  an  appointment," 
said  Mr.  Joles,  slowly  recovering  from  the  shock 
Von  Earwig  had  given  him.  "Besides  which,  he  is  at 
present  at  Bar  Harbour." 

"Are  you  sure  there  is  no  message  for  me?"  pleaded 
Von  Earwig. 

"Quite  sure,"  responded  Mr.  Joles. 

"But  there  must  be,"  pleaded  the  old  man.  He 
was  desperate  now.  "Did  she  get  my  note?" 

"My  advice  is  for  you  to  go  home  and  wait  till  Miss 
Stanton  signifies  that  your  presence  is  required. 
That's  the  best  thing  to  do — really."  Mr.  Joles  vol 
unteered  this  advice,  which  contained  little  comfort, 
but  Von  Earwig's  lip  quivered  and  he  nodded  his 
head  thankfully.  Even  the  advice  to  go  away  and 
stay  away  contained  more  hope  than  the  cold  stolid 
stone-wall  indifference  he  had  encountered  day  after 
day  from  Mr.  Joles. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Joles!  I  will,  I  will,"  and  Von 
Earwig  plodded  his  way  wearily  back  to  Houston 
Street.  For  one  whole  week  he  did  not  go  near  the 
Stanton  house.  He  contented  himself  with  hoping. 
He  would  sit  in  his  little  room  and  rush  out  every 
time  he  heard  the  letter-carrier's  whistle,  but  no  let 
ter  came.  One  day,  when  he  could  no  longer  restrain 

250 


Chapter 

himself,  he  carefully  brushed  his  clothes  and  prepared 
to  walk  uptown  again. 

"She  must  be  in,  she  must  be  in;  and  she  will  see 
me.  This  time  I  know  she  will  see  me;  I  am  sure 
of  it;  sure  of  it,"  he  kept  repeating  to  himself.  "She 
can't  be  so  cruel!" 

He  found  himself  looking  into  a  florist's  window 
and  started  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

"That's  a  good  omen,  a  very  good  omen !  You're 
all  right,  Earwig;  she  will  see  you." 

Fie  had  recognised  the  florist  in  Union  Square  that 
he  had  bought  the  violets  he  presented  her  with  on 
the  day  he  first  called  upon  her.  He  went  in  and 
bought  a  bunch  of  violets. 

"We  begin  all  over  again,"  he  said  to  himself.  "We 
forget  all  this  weary  waiting,  all  this  stupid  fear. 
Now,  Miss  Helene,  we  are  prepared  for  our  lesson," 
he  said,  as  he  took  the  box  of  flowers  and  walked 
uptown  with  renewed  hope.  His  heart  beat  very 
rapidly  as  he  walked  up  the  steps. 

"Courage,  Earwig,"  he  said  to  himself;  "the  tide 
turns !  You  will  see  1" 

He  rang  the  bell.  There  was  no  answer.  Several 
times  he  repeated  this  action;  each  time  he  waited, 
several  minutes.  Finally  he  rang  the  bell,  and  added 
to  it  a  loud  knock.  His  persistence  was  rewarded, 
for  Mr.  Joles  came  to  the  door.  He  did  not  wait 
for  Von  Earwig  tc  speaic,  as  he  usually  did,  but  pro- 
seeded  to  inform  the  old  man  that  his  actions  were 
"simply  disgraceful." 

'4Miss  Stanton  is  not  in  and  what's  more  she  is  not 

251 


liable  to  be  in,"  he  said  severely.  "Some  people  can 
not  take  a  hint!  If  Miss  Stanton  wanted  to  see  you, 
Miss  Stanton  would  have  sent  for  you/'  added  Mr. 
Joles,  and  his  manner  was  quite  ruffled.  He  took  it 
as  a  personal  offence  that  Mr.  Von  Earwig  should  so 
persist  in  calling  at  a  house  where  it  was  evident  he 
was  not  wanted. 

Von  Earwig  was  speechless;  he  could  make  no  re 
ply.  Insulted,  turned  away,  humiliated  by  her  ser 
vants  !  She  must  know,  he  felt  sure  she  knew  now 
and  his  degradation  was  complete.  The  old  man 
turned  to  go  now  desiring  only  to  get  away,  some 
where,  anywhere,  where  he  could  hide  his  head, 
where  he  could  hide  his  grief  from  the  world.  Joles 
shut  the  door  with  a  bang.  He  evidently  intended 
that  the  music  master's  dismissal  should  be  final. 
That  door  bang  put  a  new  idea  into  Von  Earwig's 
bewildered  brain. 

"That  does  not  come  from  her,"  he  cried,  "she 
does  not  insult,  she  does  not  lacerate  the  heart,  she 
would  not  purposely  humiliate  me.  No,  this  last  deg 
radation  could  emanate  only  from  one  who  has  the 
soul  of  a  servant.  This  is  revenge !  He  hates  me, 
but  why?  Good  God!  Why?  I've  done  nothing 
to  him,"  and  the  old  man  groaned  aloud  in  his  mis 
ery.  "I'll  wait  and  see,  perhaps  she  is  at  Bar  Har 
bour  with  her  father.  How  do  I  know?  How  do 
I  know?" 

After  this,  Von  Earwig  did  something  that  he  had 
never  done  before  in  his  whole  life;  he  hid  himself 
in  the  shadow  of  the  opposite  corner,  and  watched. 

252 


C&apter 

"It  is  a  mean  action,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  she 
will  forgive,  she  will  forgive!" 

For  hours  he  stood  there  watching  and  waiting,  and 
the  time  slipped  by  almost  without  his  being  conscious 
of  it,  until  the  shadows  of  night  began  to  fall.  Once^ 
a  policeman,  seeing  him  crouched  in  the  corner,' 
stopped  and  looked  at  him. 

"What  are  you  doing  there?"  he  asked. 

Von  Earwig  turned  his  pale,  tear-stained  counte 
nance  and  looked  at  the  officer;  then  a  gentle  smile 
crept  over  his  face. 

"I  am  waiting,"  he  said  simply. 

There  was  such  utter  pathos  in  the  old  man's  voice, 
such  gentle  dignity  in  his  manner,  such  a  pleading 
look  in  his  eyes  that  it  seemed  to  satisfy  the  guardian 
of  the  law,  for  he  walked  on  without  uttering  an 
other  word. 

Von  Earwig's  weary  vigil  soon  came  to  an  end.  A 
pair  of  horses  and  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  Stanton 
mansion  and  stopped  at  its  doors.  Von  Earwig  in 
stantly  recognised  the  Stanton  livery,  but  the  carriage 
was  empty. 

"It  is  waiting  for  some  one,"  he  muttered  to  him 
self.  "Courage,  courage!  We  shall  soon  see!" 

It  was  now  nearly  dark,  and  he  could  approach 
nearer  to  the  house  without  fear  of  being  seen.  The 
carriage  stood  there  quite  a  time,  during  which  the 
horses  pawed  the  ground  impatiently. 

"Patience,  patience,"  said  Von  Earwig  to  himself. 
"You  soon  see." 

His  patience  was  rewarded,  for  the  door  opened, 

253 


and  Helene  Stanton  issued  forth,  clad  in  a  handsome 
evening  costume.  To  Von  Earwig's  fevered  mind, 
she  looked  more  radiantly  beautiful,  more  tranquilly 
happy  than  he  had  ever  before  seen  her.  She  walked 
rapidly  down  the  brown  stone  steps,  stepped  quickly 
into  the  carnage  and  was  whirled  away  before  Von 
Earwig  could  realise  what  had  happened.  The  old 
man  could  have  shrieked  aloud  in  his  agony. 

uShe  knows,  she  knows,  she  knows!"  he  kept  saying 
to  himself,  as  he  groped  his  way  toward  home.  He 
was  dazed,  benumbed.  The  many  figures  coming  and 
going,  this  way  and  that  way,  seemed  like  a  spectral 
vision  to  him.  How  he  got  as  far  as  Union  Square 
he  never  knew,  but  the  first  place  he  recognised  was 
the  open  square.  A  large  piano  organ  was  playing 
and  quite  a  number  of  people  were  grouped  around 
it.  This  music  recalled  him  to  himself. 

"I  know  the  worst  now;  the  sword  of  hope  no 
longer  hangs  over  my  head.  At  least  my  suspense  is 
over,"  he  said,  "thank  God  it  is  over!" 

He  now  realised  what  had  happened. 

"No  more  waiting  and  watching  for  the  word  that 
never  comes!"  he  thought.  "My  dream  is  over!  I 
am  awake  again,  I  will  think  no  more  of  it." 

He  was  walking  across  the  square  now.  The  even 
ing  was  warm  and  sultry  and  all  the  benches  were 
crowded  with  people  except  one  on  which  a  woman 
was  seated  holding  a  babe  that  was  crying. 

"Either  people  do  not  want  to  disturb  her,  or  they 
do  not  want  to  be  disturbed  by  the  crying  infant," 
thought  Von  Earwig,  mechanically  taking  in  the  sit- 

254 


Chapter  STtoentp 

uation.      He  was  now   acutely  conscious  of  things 
going  on  around  him. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  that  baby?"  he  wondered. 

He  stooped  and  looked  at  the  infant.  It  was  cry 
ing  piteously,  so  he  looked  at  the  woman  and  was 
struck  by  the  fact  that  she  was  taking  no  notice  of 
her  child.  She  seemed  to  be  absolutely  unconscious 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  crying. 

"How  strange!"  thought  Von  Earwig. 

She  was  a  young,  girlish  woman  with  rather  attrac 
tive  features,  but  pale  and  wan.  Von  Earwig  could 
not  help  noticing  the  look  of  abject  despair  on  her 
face.  The  child  cried  on,  but  she  seemed  oblivious  of 
the  fact. 

"Can  she  hear  it?"  he  asked  himself.  "Is  she  the 
mother  and  yet  allows  the  babe  to  suffer  without  try 
ing  to  help  it?"  Von  Earwig's  interest  was  aroused 
and  he  determined  to  speak  to  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  gently  to  the  girl. 
"Can  I  not  do  something  for  you?" 

She  turned  to  him  and  shook  her  head. 

"Can  I  do  something  for  the  child?    It — it  suffers." 

"Yes,"  responded  the  girl  in  a  hoarse  voice.  "I 
suppose  it  does — it's  hungry!" 

Instinctively  Von  Earwig  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket, ' 
but  the  girl  shook  her  head. 

"Not  that,  not  that!"  she  said  quickly.  "I  have 
enough  to  eat,  but — "  She  looked  at  him  more 
closely,  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  felt  rather  than  saw 
that  it  was  not  mere  idle  curiosity  that  was  prompt 
ing  his  question. 

255 


v'It's  very  kind  of  you  to  take  an  interest  in  a 
stranger.  I'm  feeding  the  child  myself,"  she  said 
after  a  pause;  "but  I  can't  now,  I  can't!"  The  girl 
tried  hard  to  keep  back  her  tears.  "It  would  poison 
her  if  I  did !  I  dare  not  until  I  feel  different.  I'm 
full  of  hate  and  misery  and  hell,  and  I  dare  not  feed 
it  to  the  child.  Mother's  milk  is  poison  when  the 
mother  feels  as  I  do!"  she  cried,  striking  her  breast 
in  her  misery. 

The  old  man  took  her  hand.  "Don't,  please  don't," 
he  said  gently;  "unless  you  want  the  child  to  die. 
Compose  yourself,  my  dear  girl,  and  tell  me  what 
has  happened.  I'm  a  stranger  to  you,  yes,  but  misery 
brings  us  together  and  makes  us  old  friends."  He 
seated  himself  beside  her.  "Tell  me ;  I  am  old  enough 
to  be  your  father!  You  have  none,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  "I  have,  but—"  she  broke  off 
suddenly.  Then  she  said,  "My  husband  has  left  me, 
and  the  child  not  eight  weeks  old.  Isn't  that  hard 
luck  ?  Left  me — for  another !  Oh,  I  know  it's  an  old 
story,  but  it's  new  enough  to  me.  God  knows  it's  new 
enough  to  me!" 

Von  Earwig  comforted  her  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
when  the  girl  quieted  down  she  told  him  her  story. 
It  was  conventional  enough.  She  had  run  away  from 
home  and  married  a  young  fellow  she  met  in  a  Har 
lem  dance  hall.  She  knew  nothing  of  his  people  or  of 
his  early  life.  She  simply  married  him,  and  now  he 
had  deserted  her  after  the  arrival  of  her  child.  There 
was  nothing  uncommon  or  strange  either  in  her  story 
or  her  way  of  telling  it.  Von  Earwig  had  heard  such 

256 


Chapter 

stories  hundreds  of  times,  but  to  him  the  pathos  of 
the  situation  lay  in  the  inability  of  the  young  mother 
to  feed  the  crying  child  owing  to  her  distracted  mental 
condition.  Further,  the  fact  that  she  was  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  the  laws  of  physiology  to  realise  this 
truth  showed  Von  Earwig  that  the  girl  had  received 
a  better  education  than  most  of  her  class. 

"Have  you  money?"  he  asked  her. 

"A  little,"  the  girl  replied  listlessly.  "Oh,  God, 
if  the  child  would  only  stop  crying,"  she  said  as  she 
kissed  and  fondled  the  babe.  Then  she  sighed.  "I 
feel  better  now,"  she  said,  "much  better.  Perhaps  in 
a  little  while  I  shall  be  myself  again."  Von  Earwig 
handed  her  a  five  dollar  bill. 

"You  will  buy  the  little  fellow  something  with  the 
compliments  of  a  stranger.  What  do  you  call  him?" 
he  said  quickly,  for  he  saw  that  his  generous  action 
had  brought  tears  to  the  girl's  eyes  and  he  wanted 
to  prevent  her  crying.  "He's  a  fine  little  chap,"  he 
added. 

"It's  a  girl,"  she  said,  the  ghost  of  a  smile  coming 
into  her  face.  "Her  name  is  Annie.  I'll  take  this 
for  her  sake.  Thank  you,  sir,  thank  you !" 

"A  little  girl,"  he  said  in  his  low,  gentle  voice;  "a 
little  girl!  I  had  a  little  girl  once,"  and  he  stifled 
the  sob  that  came  into  his  throat.  The  girl  heard 
this  sob  and  squeezed  his  hand  gently  in  sympathy. 

"Let  me  tell  you  a  story,  my  child,  it  may  help  you 
to  bear  the  burden  of  life,  as  your  story  has  helped 
me!" 

Von  Earwig  reseated  himself  by  the  girl's  side  and 

257 


recounted  to  her  the  whole  story  of  his  miserable 
unhappy  existence  from  beginning  to  end,  This 
stranger  was  the  only  one  to  whom  he  had  ever  told 
it  all.  The  girl  was  intensely  interested,  and  it 
had  the  desired  effect  of  taking  her  thoughts  off  her 
own  misery.  When  Von  Earwig  took  his  leave  of 
her  an  hour  or  so  later,  the  colour  had  come  into  her 
waxen  cheeks  and  she  was  quietly  nursing  her  baby. 

"I  have  been  asleep,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  I  am 
awake  now.  Life  is  all  about  me;  I  must  not  be 
blind  to  it  again!" 

As  Von  Earwig  turned  the  corner  of  Houston  Street 
and  the  Bowery,  he  glanced  at  the  clock  in  the  watch 
maker's  on  the  corner.  It  was  eleven  o'clock.  He 
did  not  go  to  the  Museum  that  night. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  there  is  no  letter  for  me, 
Joles?"  Helene  asked  anxiously,  as  she  came  in  late 
that  night. 

"Quite  sure,  miss." 

Helene  thought  a  moment.  "It's  very  strange,"  she 
said.  "I've  written  to  him  so  many  times." 

Joles's  face  expressed  nothing.  Helene  shook  her 
head  slowly  and  walked  upstairs.  Before  she  went 
to  bed  that  night  she  sent  the  following  note: 

"MY  DEAREST  BEVERLY  :  Come  to-morrow  morning 
and  take  me  to  lunch.  I  want  you  to  do  a  little  diplo 
matic  work  for  me. 

"Your  loving 

"HELENE." 


258 


)N  EARWIG  now  firmly  made  up  his  mind  that 
it  would  never  be  his  good  fortune  to  see  his 
beloved  pupil  again.  "She  has  gone  out  of 
my  life  as  suddenly  as  she  came  into  it,"  he  said  with 
a  deep  sigh. 

To  a  man  of  his  mental  activity  the  loss  of  almost 
the  sole  object  of  his  thoughts  created  an  aching  void, 
and  yet  so  hopeful  was  he  in  spite  of  the  constant 
repetition  of  blasted  hopes  and  unfilled  desire  that 
two  or  three  days  after  the  occurrences  just  narrated 
he  had  resolved  on  a  new  plan  of  action. 

"Poons  and  Jenny  shall  marry  at  once,"  said  he  as 
he  arose  that  morning  and  dressed  himself  to  go  to 
the  rehearsal  of  a  new  songstress  at  the  Museum. 

"The  son  of  your  old  friend  and  the  niece  of  your 
good  landlady  shall  mark  a  new  epoch  for  you,  Bar- 
wig.    You  overrated  yourself,  you  loved  the  daughter 
of  millions,  you  lived  beyond  your  means,  my  friend. 
Now  it  is  time  you  lived  within  your  income,"  he 
v  said,  looking  at  himself  in  the  glass,  as  he  combed  his 
/grey   hair.      "Love    Jenny   and    Poons;    poor   little 
^neglected  ones,  you  had   forgotten  their  existence! 
No  more  extravagances,  no  more  reaching  for  the 
impossible!     Here  down  in  Houston  Street  is  your 
life!     It  is  your  own,  live  it!     Don't  go  after  the 
fleshpots  of  Fifth  Avenue,   don't  cheapen  yourself 
that  servants  and  lackeys  may  insult  and  deride  you." 

259 


it  jilastfer 

Yet  ever  as  he  spoke,  a  mental  image  of  his  beloved 
pupil  came  before  him,  and  his  heart  sank  as  he 
thought  that  he  should  never  see  her  again. 

"Why  has  a  mere  thought,  a  stray  idea  the  power 
to  make  us  so  unhappy?"  he  asked  himself.  This 
question  was  still  unanswered  when  there  came  into 
his  mind  the  memory  of  the  unfortunate  young 
woman  he  had  met  on  Union  Square  a  few  nights  be 
fore.  Her  misery,  her  agony  of  mind,  the  crying 
babe,  all  came  before  him  in  a  flash.  "My  God, 
when  I  think  of  her,  I  am  ashamed  of  myself!  Here 
I  howl  and  tear  my  hair  and  rail  at  fortune  because 
I  lose  something  that  I  never  had;  she  was  never 
mine — this  girl  of  millions — I  had  no  right  to  her. 
But  the  sufferings  of  that  poor  child-wife  are  real, 
deep,  heartrending;  and  there  are  thousands  of 
others  like  her  in  this  world.  Get  up,  sluggard,  get 
up!  Go  out  and  comfort  them;  go  out  into  the 
world  and  mend  broken  hearts.  It  is  your  trade! 
You  have  qualified,  for  your  own  is  battered  to 
pieces." 

This  idea  gave  him  peace  of  mind  for  a  short  time, 
but  presently  his  thoughts  ran  into  the  old  groove. 
Try  as  he  would  he  could  not  direct  them  away  from 
the  line  of  easiest  mental  resistance. 

"If  I  could  only  see  her  once  again,"  he  thought, 
"perhaps  I  could  explain  away  the  cause  of  our  separa 
tion.  Perhaps  I — "  and  he  started  up  suddenly,  the 
idea  sweeping  him  off  his  feet.  "By  God,  I  make 
one  more  effort;  just  one  more  effort!  And  if  that 
fails,  I  give  it  up ;  it  shall  be  the  last !  This  time  I 

260 


Chapter  {Etoent|>=cme 

swear  it  shall  be  the  last.  Yes,  I  go,  I  demand  an 
interview.  It  is  my  right."  He  was  as  full  of  hope 
now  as  he  had  ever  been.  As  a  gambler  eagerly 
stakes  his  last  bet,  so  Von  Earwig  hastened  to  fin 
ish  dressing  anH  go  to  her,  to  make  his  one  last  ap 
peal. 

As  he  brushed  his  coat  hurriedly,  there  came  a  knock 
at  the  door.  "Come  in,"  said  Von  Earwig  rather  im 
patiently,  thinking  that  it  was  Poons.  He  did  not 
feel  in  the  mood  just  at  that  moment  for  casual  con 
versation.  "Come  in,"  he  repeated  in  a  louder  voice, 
and  to  his  utter  amazement  in  walked  Beverly 
Cruger. 

Von  Earwig  could  only  stare  at  him  in  speechless 
astonishment.  He  was  literally  dumfounded.  Young 
Cruger  evidently  saw  this,  for  he  seized  Von  Bar- 
wig's  hand  and  shook  it  warmly. 

"How  do  you  do,  Herr  Von  Barwig?"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,  well!  Sit  down,"  the  old  man  man 
aged  to  gasp  out,  as  he  pointed  to  a  chair.  "You 
come  from  her,  from  Miss  Stanton?"  he  articulated 
in  a  voice  just  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  younger 
man. 

"Yes,"  said  Beverly,  taking  off  his  gloves  and  plac- 
(ing  them  on  the  table.  "I  want  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  you.  May  I?" 

Von  Barwig  did  not  answer  his  question. 

"Did — she — did  she  send  you?"  he  asked.  His 
eyes  glistened;  his  very  life  seemed  to  depend  on  the 
answer. 

Beverly  nodded.  "Yes,  she  wanted  me  to  ask  you 

261 


it  Jflaster 


a  few  questions.    "Are  you  sure  you  have  the  time  to 
spare  ?" 

Von  Earwig  laughed  from  sheer  joy.  Time!  to 
some  one  who  came  from  her!  He  could  only  nod 
in  acquiescence  and  wait  for  the  young  man  to  speak. 

"How  many  letters  have  you  received  from  Miss 
Stanton?"  asked  Beverly. 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  him.  "Not  any,"  he  replied, 
shaking  his  head  sadly. 

Beverly  made  no  comment,  but  he  made  a  mental 
note.  It  was  not  his  intention  at  that  moment  at  least 
to  acquaint  Herr  Von  Earwig  with  all  that  had  passed 
between  Helene  and  himself  as  to  the  letters  that 
had  failed  to  reach  their  destination. 

"Didn't  receive  one,  eh?" 

"No,  not  one,"  said  Von  Earwig,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Has  she  written?"  he  asked  falteringly. 

Beverly  made  no  reply,  but  thought  a  moment. 

"How  many  letters  have  you  sent  Miss  Stanton?*1 
he  asked. 

Von  Earwig  hesitated.  "Perhaps  —  perhaps  some 
five  or  six,"  he  said  apologetically. 

"Hum!"  commented  Beverly,  "five  or  six,  eh? 
How  many  times  have  you  called  during,  say,  the  past 
month?" 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head;  he  could  not  remember." 
"Perhaps  twenty,  perhaps  thirty  times." 

"And  she  was  always  out?"  queried  Beverly. 

"Yes,"  said  Von  Earwig  sorrowfully,  "always  1" 

"Whom  did  you  see?" 

"Mr.  Joles,"  came  the  ready  reply. 

2.62 


C&apter  ®toentp»one 

"Every  time  you  called?" 

"Yes,  I— I  think  so!" 

Beverly  Cruger  looked  at  Von  Earwig  a  few  mo 
ments  and  knitted  his  brows  thoughtfully.  "It's 
damn  queer,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Has  she  written  any  letter  to  me  ?  It  did  not  reach 
me,  that  I  am  sure,"  began  the  old  man. 

"That's  all  right.  Now  let  me  give  you  Miss  Stan- 
ton's  message !  She  would  like  you  to  be  at  her  home 
at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon.  Can  you  manage  it?" 

Von  Earwig  did  not  trust  himself  to  reply.  Pie 
could  only  nod  his  head  affirmatively. 

"I'm  glad  I  came  up;  awfully  glad!" 

Beverly  arose  from  his  seat  and  held  out  his  hand  to 
Von  Earwig. 

"Good-bye!     Be  on  time,  won't  you?"  he  said. 

Von  Barwig  smiled.  "Yes,  I'll  be  on  time,"  he 
said  joyfully. 

The  look  in  the  old  man's  face  went  to  Beverly 
Cruger's  heart  and  he  showed  his  sympathy  as  he 
shook  hands  with  him  again.  He  hurriedly  passed 
through  the  group  of  children  who  had  gathered  to 
look  at  the  not  too  familiar  spectacle  of  a  hansom 
cab  waiting  at  the  door  of  Miss  Husted's  establish 
ment. 

Von  Barwig  will  always  remember  how  wearily  the 
hours  dragged  along  until  the  time  of  his  appointment 
uptown  came.  Finally  they  did  pass,  and  though  it 
lacked  several  minutes  of  the  hour  of  four,  Von  Bar- 
wig  walked  up  the  stone  steps  of  Mr.  Henry  Stanton's 
house  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  Fifty-seventh  Street. 

263 


;4fJlu$tc  faster 

There  was  no  change  in  the  expression  of  Mr. 
Joles's  face  to  denote  that  he  had  received  imperative 
instructions  from  Miss  Stanton  to  admit  Herr  Von 
Earwig  the  moment  he  called.  Nor  did  Mr.  Joles 
appear  to  think  it  at  all  curious  that  young  Mr. 
Cruger  should  happen  to  be  in  the  hallway  just  as 
the  music  master  came  in  at  the  door.  His  face  dis 
played  no  emotion  whatever  when  that  young  gentle 
man  came  forward  and  led  the  old  man  upstairs  to 
Miss  Stanton's  room.  Neither  Mr.  Cruger  nor  the 
music  master  saw  the  pale  face  of  Mr.  Stanton's  secre 
tary,  Ditson,  peering  over  the  staircase  at  them.  But 
a  moment  later  a  telegram  was  sent  to  Mr.  Stanton, 
telling  him  that  there  was  an  urgent  necessity  for  him 
to  come  home  at  once.  Curiously  enough  at  about  the 
same  time  Mr.  Stanton  received  this  telegram,  he  also 
received  a  letter  from  his  daughter  begging  him  to 
come  home  as  soon  as  he  could,  as  her  mail  had  been 
tampered  with  and  she  strongly  suspected  Joles  of 
acting  in  a  most  deceitful  manner  for  reasons  she 
could  not  fathom.  It  was  because  she  expected  her 
father  that  she  acted  under  Beverly's  advice  and  did 
not  mention  the  subject  to  Joles,  nor  even  to  Herr 
Von  Barwig  until  her  father  had  instituted  an  in 
quiry. 

The  meeting  between  Von  Barwig  and  his  pupil  was 
marked  by  no  special  display  of  emotion  or  even 
more  than  ordinary  interest;  for  Von  Barwig  had 
steeled  himself  for  the  occasion.  They  greeted  each 
other  cordially,  but  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  self- 
control  that  he  managed  to  conceal  his  delight  at  see- 

264 


Chapter  Ctoentp=one 

ing  her  once  more.  Again  occurred  the  formal  pres 
entation  of  the  little  bunch  of  violets;  again  the  casual 
remarks  about  the  weather. 

"You  are  not  angry?"  asked  Helene  tenderly. 

Von  Earwig  dared  not  reply;  he  could  only  smile 
and  look  at  her  in  silence.  After  a  pause  he  ventured 
to  say: 

"I  have  offended  Mr.  Joles's  feelings.  I  am  sorry  1" 
Helene  held  up  a  warning  finger,  indicating  her  de 
sire  to  keep  silence  on  that  subject,  at  least  for  the 
present. 

"Later  on!"  she  said.  "I  intend  to  take  up  the 
subject  with  my  father  when  he  returns." 

Von  Earwig  watched  himself  closely.  He  was  deter 
mined  to  make  no  more  mistakes,  nor  to  yield  to  any 
temptation  to  give  way  to  his  feelings  in  the  slightest 
degree. 

"You  have  practised  since  I — during  my  absence?" 
he  asked,  assuming  a  sternness  he  by  no  means  felt, 
and  that  she  saw  through  at  once. 

"Yes,  maestro"  she  replied  meekly.  "I  have  prac 
tised  every  day.  I've  really  made  great  progress, 
caro  maestro!"  and  she  laughed  softly. 

"We  shall  see,"  said  Von  Earwig,  with  a  critical 
frown  on  his  face.  He  was  a  little  self-conscious.  He 
knew  his  own  weakness,  his  temptation  to  become 
sentimental,  a,nd  he  had  to  watch  himself  continually 
to  prevent  his  emotional  nature  from  getting  upper 
most.  This  self-restraint  made  him  slightly  ill  at 
ease,  and  Helene  noticed  it. 

"You  are  strangely  quiet  this  afternoon,"  she  said* 

265 


"I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  had  a  great 
deal  to  tell  me."  Von  Earwig  merely  looked  at  her. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "we  must  get  to  work!" 

"You  did  not  receive  a  single  line  from  me?"  she 
asked  as  they  neared  the  end  of  the  lesson.  "What 
/must  you  have  thought?" 

"What  right  have  I  to  think?"  replied  Von  Earwig. 
"I  am  only  a  teacher!  There  are  so  many.  I 
thought  perhaps  you  had  replaced  me." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  please,"  said  Helene  quickly, 
and  shutting  the  piano  up  with  a  bang,  she  arose. 
"You  know  that  I  esteem  you  very  highly,"  and  she 
stopped  suddenly.  "I  am  going  to  find  out  all  about 
these  stolen  letters  and  father  will  punish  the  culprit. 
He  is  very  strict  in  these  matters;  he  always  punishes 
the  guilty." 

"Eut  it  is  over  and  done  now,  so  why  punish  any 
one?"  began  Von  Earwig.  Helene  shook  her 
head. 

"It  hasn't  begun  yet,"  she  said,  ringing  the  bell. 
Denning  answered  it.  "Send  Joles  please/*  she  said. 

Denning  bowed  and  a  little  later  Joles  appeared. 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,  my  music  master,  will  be  here 
at  three  o'clock  to-morrow  afternoon.  You  will 
please  admit  him  at  once." 

"Yes,  madam,"  and  Joles  bowed  his  head  rather 
lower  than  usual. 

Von  Earwig  took  leave  of  his  pupil,  appearing  not 
to  notice  her  outstretched  hand,  but  merely  bowing 
to  her  as  he  said  good-bye.  Joles  opened  the  front 
door  for  him  and  Von  Earwig  looked  at  him  pity 

266 


Chapter  ®toentp=one 

ingly.    His  triumph  over  the  servant  was  so  complete 
that  he  felt  sorry  for  him. 

"Perhaps  you  did  not  mean  to  keep  back  the  letters," 
said  Von  Earwig  to  him  in  a  low,  sympathetic  voice. 

Joles  looked  at  him  in  blank  astonishment. 

"You  have  perhaps  a  family  to  support,"  went  on. 
Von  Earwig.     "I  will  ask  Mr.  Stanton  to  forgive 
you." 

"Sir!"  said  Mr.  Joles,  with  some  slight  show  of 
indignation,  "I  do  not  understand  you." 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  the  man  a  moment,  and  see 
ing  that  it  was  useless  to  discuss  the  matter  with  him 
he  walked  slowly  down  the  stone  steps,  wondering 
what  it  all  meant. 

On  the  following  morning  Mr.  Stanton  arrived 
home.  He  appeared  to  be  in  very  high  spirits. 
Helene  could  not  remember  when  her  father  had 
been  so  light-hearted  and  gay.  She  wanted  to  tell 
him  about  the  suppression  of  her  letters,  of  Joles's 
contempt  for  her  orders,  and  his  lies  about  Von  Bar- 
wig,  but  these  were  matters  that  evidently  did  not  in 
terest  Mr.  Stanton,  for  he  paid  very  little  attention  to 
her  complaints. 

"It  is  your  birthday,"  he  said,  "let  no  unpleasant^ 
features  mar  the  day!  See,  I  have  not  forgotten!"* 
and  Mr.  Stanton  produced  a  box  that  came  from 
the  most  fashionable  and  most  expensive  jewelry  es 
tablishment  in  America.  "A  trifle,"  he  said.  "Put 
it  with  your  other  gifts  and  show  it  to  your  friends 
when  they  come  this  afternoon." 

Helene  opened  the  box.    Accustomed  as  she  was  to 

267 


beautiful  jewels,  she  could  only  gasp.  Within  it  was 
a  magnificent  pearl  necklace,  beautifully  graded,  with 
colour  matching  to  perfection. 

"A  trifle!"  she  repeated.  "Father,  it's  beautiful!" 
She  wanted  to  throw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  to  kiss 
him  for  his  bountiful  gift,  but  something  in  his  man 
ner  checked  her,  so  she  stifled  the  impulse  and  con 
tented  herself  with  holding  up  her  face.  Mr.  Stan- 
ton  kissed  her  coldly  and  Helene. drew  back.  It  was 
an  instinctive  repulsion  and  she  could  not  help 
showing  it;  he,  on  his  part,  appeared  not  to  notice 
it. 

"I  will  inquire  into  the  matter  of  your  letters  being 
tampered  with,"  he  said,  "although  I  am  confident 
that  you  will  find  that  you  are  labouring  under  some 
mistake.  Joles  is  as  honest  as  the  day.  What  could 
be  his  motive?" 

Helene  was  silent.  Her  father  did  not  pursue  the 
subject. 

"The  Crugers  are  coming  to-day,"  he  said  finally. 

"Indeed?"  said  Helene,  somewhat  surprised.  "Bev 
erly  is  coming,  I  believe;  but  I  did  not  know  his  father 
and  mother  were." 

"I  informed  the  Crugers  that  I  had  returned  to 
town,  and  that  I  should  be  very  pleased  to  see  them 
this  afternoon.  I  told  them  it  was  your  birthday 
and — "  He  paused,  saying  in  a  more  decided 
tone: 

"It  is  my  intention  to  urge  an  immediate  marriage, 
Helene."  He  spoke  with  an  effort.  "I  may  be  called 

away  at  any  moment,  and " 

268 


Chapter  Ctoentp=one 

Helena  noticed  that  her  father  looked  pale  and 
worried  and  decidedly  ill  at  ease. 

"I  shall  esteem  it  a  great  favour  if  you  will  not  in 
terpose  any  objection  to  my  project  for  this  marriage. 
I  have  asked  several  of  our  friends  here  to-day,  and 
I  have  given  them  to  understand  that  the  date  of  the 
marriage  would  be  announced.  It  is  your  birthday, 
so  it  will  be  a  double  event,  as  it  were."  He  paused 
and  looked  at  her. 

"Do  as  you  think  best!"  she  said  finally.  She  felt 
it  was  useless  to  contend  with  him.  For  some  reason 
or  other  he  wanted  an  early  marriage;  so  be  it! 

"You  have  asked  several  friends,"  she  said.  "Have 
you  asked  any  of  my  mother's  people?" 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Stanton  abruptly. 

"Mrs.  Cruger  said  she  hoped  some  day  to  meet 
some  of  my  mother's  relations.  Father,  how  is  it  I 
know  nothing  of  her  or  her  people?  What  is  the 
mystery  about  her?  Every  time  cards  are  sent  out 
from  this  house  for  any  function  I  am  always  re 
minded  that  there  is  not  one  of  her  family  to  come  to 
this  house.  On  an  occasion  like  this  I  should  have 
thought " 

"She  had  no  relatives,"  interrupted  Mr.  Stanton, 
"or  I  should  have  asked  them.  Please  discontinue 
the  subject;  it  is  by  no  means  a  pleasant  one.  Good 
God,  what  a  girl  you  are !  I  come  to  you  with  a  gift 
fit  for  a  princess;  and  you,  you  ungrateful " 

Mr.  Stanton  looked  at  her  with  a  look  of  intense 
anger,  almost  of  hatred;  then  turned  on  his  heel  and 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

269 


ic  faster 

Helena  returned  to  her  room.  She  was  quite 
thoughtful.  uAn  early  marriage  I  Yes,  the  sooner 
the  better!"  She  almost  threw  the  necklace  among 
the  many  gifts  that  had  been  sent  her.  She  wished 
her  father  had  not  given  it  to  her.  It  was  evidently 
,not  in  her  to  express  the  gratitude  he  deserved  and 
she  was  angry  with  herself  that  she  was  not  more 
grateful  to  him. 

That  afternoon  when  Von  Earwig  was  admitted  to 
her  presence  he  saw  a  pile  of  boxes,  flowers,  jewelry — 
gifts  of  all  sorts  on  the  piano.  He  noticed  also  that 
the  dolls  were  on  the  outside  of  the  cabinet,  instead 
of  inside,  where  she  usually  kept  them. 

"It's  my  birthday,"  she  said  in  explanation.  "I've 
been  having  a  good  time  with  my  dolls."  She  smiled 
as  she  saw  that  he  was  holding  out  a  little  bunch  of 
violets. 

"For  you !"  he  said. 

"You  must  really  stop  this  sort  of  thing,  sir,  or  I 
shall  be  very  angry !"  But  she  took  them  and  pressed 
them  to  her  face. 

"They  look  very  meagre  among  all  this  great 
horticultural  display,"  said  Von  Earwig  regret 
fully. 

"They  came  from  the  heart  and  I  love  them,"  she 
said  as  she  fastened  them  in  her  corsage. 

"Well,  now  we  begin,"  he  said  as  he  took  out  the 
lead  pencil  that  he  always  used  as  a  baton.  "There 
must  be  progress  to-day." 

He  opened  the  piano  and  she  sat  down  and  looked 
at  the  music  he  placed  there  for  her.  He  had  chosen 

270 


Chapter  ®toent|>=ane 

a  well-known  exercise,  a  Czerny;  not  a  difficult  one, 
but  requiring  some  technique  to  play  with  precision. 

"Come,  begin!"  and  she  rattled  off  at  a  6-8 
allegretto,  the  music  which  was  intended  to  be  played 
in  three-quarter  andante. 

"Very  pretty,"  commented  Von  Earwig,  "very 
pretty  indeed,  but  you  finish  before  you  com 
mence!" 

"That's  the  rate  at  which  I'm  thinking,"  said 
Helene.  "When  I  think  rapidly  I  play  rapidly.  My 
thoughts  can  only  be  described  as  presto." 

"That's  rather  hard  on  the  composer,  Miss  Stanton. 
Come,  I  count  for  you !  One,  two,  three.  One,  two, 
three;  One,  two,  three.  The  fingers  should  be 
little  hammers,  so!  One,  two,  three.  Dear  young 
lady,  this  is  not  a  thumb  exercise;  it  is  for  the 
fingers." 

"Am  I  playing  with  my  thumbs?"  she  asked. 

"Come;  please,  please!"  he  entreated. 

"I  can't  refuse  when  you  plead  so  hard,"  she  said. 

"One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three,"  he  counted 
monotonously. 

"You  like  me,  don't  you?"  she  asked  irrevelantly, 
a  mischievous  smile  on  her  face.  Von  Earwig  tried 
to  look  stern  but  failed  ignominiously.  "Please 
attend,"  he  said.  "One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three. 
Ah,  you  play  so  unevenly !  Sometimes  you  have  the 
touch  of  an  artist,  at  another  you  make  bungles." 

"Bungles?"  repeated  Helene,  laughing.  "What  are 
they?" 

"One,  two,  three;  not  six-eighth,  dear  lady, 

271 


not  six-eighth !  So !  One,  two,  three !  one,  two, 
three." 

"Did  I  show  you  my  new  necklace  ?"  she  asked  as 
she  played  on. 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head.  "One,  two,  three," 
,  was  all  she  could  elicit  from  him. 

"Father  gave  it  to  me;  to-day  is  my  birthday." 

"Your  birthday;  so?"  said  Von  Earwig,  still  mark 
ing  time.  "Your  birthday?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,  mio  maestro;  I  am  nineteen  to-day." 

"Nineteen!  One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three,"  he 
counted.  Then  after  a  pause,  "nineteen?" 

She  looked  up,  he  was  still  counting  and  beating  time 
with  the  lead  pencil  as  a  baton.  But  there  was  a  far 
away  look  in  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  recall 
something.  "Nineteen  to-day;  nineeteen  to-day!" 
he  repeated,  as  if  he  had  not  quite  realised  what  she 
said. 

"One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three."  Was  there  a 
break  in  his  voice? 

"Nineteen  to-day!"  Then  he  looked  at  her  as  she 
played. 

"Where  were  you  born?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"In  Leipsic,"  she  replied  carelessly. 

Von  Earwig  stopped  counting,  his  baton  poised  in 
the  air. 

"In  Leipsic!"  he  repeated  hoarsely.  "In  Leipsic? 
She — would  have  been  nineteen  to-day.  Ach  Gott, 
Gott!" 

Helene  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three,"  chanted  the 

272 


Chapter  ®toentp=one 

music  master.  He  dared  not  let  her  see  his  agita 
tion.  "What  does  it  mean?  How  can  it  be?  Good 
God,  how  can  it  be?"  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl;  the 
possibilities  came  to  him  in  an  overwhelming  flood. 

"You  really  must  see  that  pearl  necklace,"  said 
Helene,  "and  some  of  the  other  presents  are  very 
beautiful.  Do  look  at  them!" 

"One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three,"  came  in  monot 
onous  tones  from  the  old  man.  Completely  gone 
was  his  sense  of  rhythm  now.  "One,  two,  three;  one, 
two,  three,"  he  continued,  trying  to  collect  his  scat 
tered  thoughts.  "Does  it  mean  that  she  is  my — my — 
Oh,  God !  I  must  be  mad,  crazy !  Earwig,  Earwig, 
pull  yourself  together,  for  God's  sake;  or  you 
lose  her  again."  One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three 
seemed  to  be  the  only  safe  ground  for  him  to  tread 
on! 

Helene  felt  that  he  was  not  following  the  music,  for 
her  fingers  strayed  idly  over  the  keys,  playing 
snatches  of  different  melodies,  a  fact  which  he  appar 
ently  did  not  notice. 

"The  necklace  is  over  there,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  gasped,  going  in  the  direction  she 
pointed.  "One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three.  It  is 
beautiful;  beautiful!"  He  scarcely  looked  at  it. 

"Did  you  ever  see  my  dolls?  I  don't  think  I  ever 
showed  them  to  you.  They're  over  there  in  the 
cabinet." 

"Your  dolls?  Yes,  I  look  at  them!"  he  said.  He 
was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  escape  observation. 
After  a  while  his  mind  became  calm  enough  for  him 

273 


it  JWasrter 

to  be  able  to  realise  what  he  was  thinking,  and  the 
urgent  necessity  for  him  to  conceal  from  her  his  mad 
folly.  Nineteen  to-day,  born  in  Leipsic,  the  daughter 
of  the  rich  millionaire;  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
image  of  his  own  lost  Helene,  born  on  the  same  day, 
at  the  same  place  and  bearing  the  same  name.  It  was 
all  so  consistent  and  yet  so  contradictory!  What 
could  it  mean?  Was  it  a  phantasy  of  his  brain,  a 
dream?  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  once  witnessed 
just  such  a  scene  as  was  taking  place  at  that  moment. 
Surely  it  had  occurred  before !  He  was  now  picking 
up  first  one  doll,  then  another,  but  he  did  not  see 
them 

"One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three;"  he  said  patheti 
cally,  trying  to  control  his  thoughts.  He  realised 
that  he  was  counting  "up  in  the  air,"  so  to  speak,  but 
he  was  afraid  of  betraying  himself.  "If  she  suspected 
that  I  dared  to  think  that  she  was  my  own  Helene, 
she'd  turn  me  from  the  house,"  he  thought. 

"IVe  kept  all  these  old  dolls  since  I  was  a  little 
baby;  even  my  little  German  doll  is  there,"  said 
Helene  as  she  played  on. 

Von  Earwig  took  up  the  dolls,  one  by  one.  "Your 
German  doll?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,  the  one  I  had  in  Leipsic.  It's  a  queer  little 
sawdust  affair,  but  I  love  it  to  pieces.  It  always  re 
minds  me  of  my  mother.  Do  you  know  what  I  am 
playing?"  but  Von  Earwig  did  not  hear  her. 
*  "The  little  German  doll,"  he  repeated.  "The  one 
she  had  in  Leipsic." 

"I  heard  this  at  your  house  the  night  we  first  met," 

274 


Chapter 

went  on  Helena,  playing  dreamily.  "It's  a  beautiful 
melody;  it  has  so  much  sentiment  in  it,  so  much 
pathos,  but  oh,  isn't  it  sad,"  and  she  sighed  deeply. 

Was  it  illusion,  too,  that  the  ghost  of  his  long- 
forgotten  symphony  should  be  played  by  the  girl  at 
£he  piano  there,  who  so  resembled  his  own  lost  loved 
one?  Was  it  illusion  that  he  should  recognise  that 
little  doll,  her  doll,  as  the  doll  with  which  his  own 
child,  his  own  Helene,  had  played  so  long  ago  ? 

Von  Earwig  did  not  start  as  he  picked  up  this  mute 
evidence  of  the  truth ;  he  was  almost  prepared  for  it. 
It  was  as  if  he  knew  she  was  his  own,  and  yet  did  not 
know  it. 

"That  eye  was  never  mended  after  all,"  he  said  in 
a  pathetic,  broken  voice,  and  as  he  spoke  the  whole 
scene  of  years  gone  by  came  back  to  him.  He  saw 
once  more  his  little  girl  pleading  with  him  to  mend 
the  doll  with  the  broken  eye. 

Von  Earwig  was  quite  calm  now.  He  had  grasped 
a  certainty  at  last ;  he  knew  now  that  he  did  not  dream. 
He  looked  over  at  the  piano.  The  girl  felt  deeply  the 
music  that  she  was  playing,  for  it  responded  to  some 
thing  in  her  own  nature;  and  so  interested  was  she 
at  this  moment  that  she  almost  forgot  his  presence. 

Fears  filled  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  at  her  longingly, 

ovingly. 

"Little  heart!  Ach,  lieber  Gott,  my  little  Helene; 
my  little  baby!  How  long,  how  long!"  he  mur 
mured,  smothering  his  emotion,  but  looking  now  at 
her,  now  at  the  little  German  doll  clutched  tightly  in 
his  hand. 

275 


After  a  while  a  feeling  of  great  peace  came 
upon  him.  His  mission  was  ended;  he  had  found 
her  at  last.  His  longing  heart  had  reached  its 
haven. 

"That's  the  doll  my  mother  loved  best,"  said 
Helene,  without  pausing  in  her  playing.  "She  loved 
to  play  with  that  doll  and  me." 

He,  too,  was  thinking  of  her  mother.  Was  it 
telepathy  that  she  should  think  the  very  thought  that 
was  uppermost  in  his  mind? 

"There's  a  portrait  of  her  in  the  next  room,"  and 
she  pointed  to  the  door  off  the  main  room.  "It  was 
painted  by  an  artist  here  in  New  York  three  years 
before  she  died." 

Von  Earwig  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  He 
silently  opened  the  door  and  looked.  "Elene,  Elene !" 
he  murmured  in  a  low  voice.  He  stood  there  some 
time  gazing  at  the  portrait  of  his  dead  wife,  and  his 
eyes  were  swimming  with  tears.  "Yes,  there  she  is," 
he  said,  his  low,  sad  voice  scarcely  audible  through 
the  music.  "Elene!  Ach,  Gott!  dead,  dead!  Bet 
ter  so ;  better — so — — " 

He  closed  the  door  gently.  As  he  did  so  a  tear 
ran  down  his  cheek  and  dropped  on  the  little  German 
doll.  "I  baptise  it,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  and  then 
he  sighed  deeply. 

The  feeling  of  deep,  unsatisfied  longing  died  out  of 
his  heart  and  from  that  moment  a  sense  of  great  free 
dom  took  possession  of  him.  He  looked  over  at  his 
beloved  Helene.  She  was  still  rhapsodising  ^n  the 
piano,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  great  struggle 

276 


Chapter  t!Ctoentp=otte 

on  in  the  heart  of  her  music  master.  What  couid  he 
offer  her?  Should  he  ruin  all  her  prospects?  Had 
he  a  home  fit  for  her  to  come  to  ? 

These  thoughts  surged  through  his  mind  as  he 
looked  at  her.  His  first  great  impulse  was  to  tell 
her  who  he  was  and  take  her  to  his  heart,  but  with  a 
supreme  effort  he  controlled  himself.  He  had  so 
often  pictured  the  scene  of  his  first  meeting  with  his 
child  that  it  seemed  almost  as  if  he  had  been  through 
this  crisis  before,  but  he  had  never  dreamed  that  she 
would  be  occupying  such  a  high  station  in  life,  never 
dreamed  that  to  make  his  relationship  known  would 
ruin  her  prospects,  and  perhaps  her  happiness.  This 
realisation  gave  him  a  perspective  of  the  situation  and 
he  resolved  for  the  sake  of  her  future  not  to  betray 
himself.  He  walked  slowly  to  the  piano,  and  stood 
behind  her  a  few  moments,  then  suddenly  he  lost  con 
trol  of  himself  and  took  her  hands  in  his. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said,  in  some  surprise,  but  with 
no  tinge  of  anger  in  her  voice. 

"You  slurred,"  he  faltered,  not  daring  to  look  her  in 
the  face,  for  fear  his  great  love  would  show  itself. 
"You  mustn't  slur — please,"  he  murmured  apologeti 
cally. 

"Did  I  slur?"  she  asked.  "Well,  I  assure  you,  it 
was  unconscious.  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it." 

"You  are  very  happy  here?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  surprised  at  the  irrelevancy 
of  the  question. 

He  was  now  stroking  her  hair  with  his  gentle,  lov 
ing  hand. 

277 


"You  have  everything  in  the  world,  everything?'1 
he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  scarcely  conscious  of  his  mean 
ing. 

"And  you  are  happy?"  he  repeated. 

'"''Why  shouldn't  I  be?"  she  said.  "I  suppose  I  have 
everything  to  make  me." 

She  stopped  playing.  This  seemed  to  bring  Von 
Earwig  to  a  sense  of  his  surroundings. 

"Come,"  he  said.  "We  must  work!  To  the  les 
son!  One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three." 

He  could  not  resist  the  impulse.  He  leaned  over 
and  again  grasped  her  hands  in  his.  She  looked  up 
at  him,  this  time  in  utter  surprise. 

"You  were  slurring  again,  slurring  again,"  he  said, 
frightened  at  his  lack  of  self-control. 

"Was  I,  indeed?"  said  Helene.  "Well,  you'll  have 
to  punish  me  severely  if  this  goes  on." 

"One,  two,  three;  one,  two,  three,"  he  counted.  His 
voice  was  choked  with  emotion,  and  he  could  barely 
see  for  his  tears. 

"No,  no;  I  could  not  punish  you.  I  could  not  put 
one  straw  in  your  way — only — I  want  to  meet  your 
father.  Yes,"  he  said  in  a  more  decidec1  tone,  "I 
want  to  meet  your  father!  One,  two,  three;  one, 
two,  three."  Whenever  Von  Earwig  wanted  to  con 
ceal  his  real  feelings  he  counted. 

"I've  gone  into  the  4-4  exercise,"  commented 
Helene. 

"Yes,  yes!  One,  two,  three,  four,"  counted  Von 
Earwig  timidly.  "One,  two,  three,  four;  yes,  I  want 

278 


Chapter  3Ctoentp=one 

to  meet  him."  Then  he  added  almost  savagely,  "I 
must  meet  him !" 

The  lesson  was  interrupted  by  Denning. 

"If  you  please,  miss,  will  you  come  down  in  the 
library?" 

"What  is  it,  Denning?" 

"Mr.  Stanton  wishes  to  see  you  at  once,  miss,"  said 
Denning  in  a  low  voice,  so  that  Von  Earwig  could  not 
hear. 

"My  father?"  repeated  Helene.  "Please  don't  go 
till  I  return,  Herr  Von  Earwig,"  and  Helene  left  the 
music  master  alone. 


279 


Cfjaptet  ®toentp=ttoo 

ELENE  found  her  father  awaiting  her  in  the 
library.  His  manner  was  excessively  nervous. 
He  seemed  to  be  labouring  under  a  strain. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said  briefly.  His  voice  was  harsh, 
his  manner  commanding.  Helene  sat  down.  In 
front  of  Mr.  Stanton  lay  a  pile  of  letters.  He  pointed 
to  them. 

"Here  are  your  letters  to  this  man,  and  his  letters  to 
you.  They  were  withheld  by  my  orders." 

"Then  Joles,"  began  Helene. 

"I  am  responsible,  not  Joles,"  he  interrupted. 

Helene  arose ;  the  blood  mounted  to  her  face. 

"Why  have  you  done  this?"  she  demanded. 

"I  wished  to  bring  your  association  with  this  man 
to  an  end.  I  ordered  him  to  be  turned  from  the 
house,  his  letters  kept  from  you  and  yours  from  him." 

"But,  father,  why  did  you  not  come  to  me?"  cried 
Helene. 

"Please  don't  interrupt  me!"  thundered  Stanton. 
"I  won't  have  that  man  in  this  house !  Please  under 
stand  that.  Send  for  him,  tell  him  you  do  not  wish  to 
continue  your  lessons,  and  dismiss  him  definitely, 
finally." 

"Father,  I  cannot."     Helene  could  scarcely  go  on. 

"You  must,  Helene;  you  must,"  insisted  Mr.  Stan- 
ton. 

"I  cannot!"  she  repeated. 

280 


Chapter 

"You  can  say  you  have  changed  your  mind." 

"Impossible!" 

"But  I  tell  you  you  must!  I  won't  have  this  man 
in  my  house  again." 

"What  has  he  done?  Tell  me,  what  has  he  done?" 
demanded  Helene. 

Stanton  paused.  "He — he  is  a  scoundrel,  a 
disgrace  to  society — to — to —  Then  in  sudden  fury 
he  went  on:  "When  a  man  gets  down  to  playing  for 
a  mere  pittance,  as  he  does,  in  a  disreputable  theatre, 
and  dwelling  in  a  squalid  neighbourhood,  with  low 
companions ' ' 

"Can  he  help  his  poverty?"  interrupted  Helene,  now 
thoroughly  aroused.  "The  man  has  pride,  he  re 
fuses  to  take  money ;  he  is  a  gentleman !  You  have 
no  right  to  insult  him  because  he  is  poor." 

"There  are  other  reasons,"  said  Stanton  quickly. 

"What  are  they?" 

Stanton  was  silent. 

"What  are  they?"  again  demanded  Helene. 

"It  is  enough  that  I  know,"  replied  Stanton.  "It 
is  enough  for  you  to  know  that  I  know." 

Helene  shook  her  head.  "It  is  not  enough,"  she 
said. 

"If  you  don't  tell  him  to  go  at  once,  you  will  force 
me  to  have  him  ordered  from  the  house !" 

"Father,"  Helene  was  almost  calm  now- 
"Tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  tell  me  what  has  he 
done?" 

Stanton  bit  his  lip  with  anger.  The  obstinacy  of 
the  girl  was  fast  driving  him  to  extremes.  "He  is 

281 


ic  faster 

not  fit  to  be  in  this  house,"  he  almost  shouted,  "or  to 
associate  with  gentlefolk." 

"But  he  is  so  good,  so  gentle !  How  can  I  suddenly 
tell  him  to  go?  Father,  I  cannot  believe  that." 

"You  don't  believe  me?  Has  it  come  to  a  question 
of  my  word — your  father's  word  against  a  stranger, 
a  beggar !  Do  you  know  I  can  have  the  man  put  in 
prison?" 

Helene  stopped  suddenly;  she  was  very  quiet  now. 
"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  she  asked  almost  in  a  whisper. 
Stanton  was  silent.  "Father,  can  you — put — him — 
in  prison?" 

Stanton  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  convince  her. 

"I  think  the  situation  speaks  for  itself,"  he  said. 
He,  too,  was  calm  now,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  to 
resort  to  extreme  measures.  "The  man  leaves  his 
own  country,  where  he  is  successful,  and  comes  here, 
and  lives  with  the  lowest  of  the  low.  Would  a  man 
do  that  if  he  were  not — afraid — or  in  danger?" 

Helene's  heart  sank. 

"Don't  sa,y  any  more,  don't  please  1"  She  felt  that 
her  father  had  good  reasons  for  speaking  as  he  did. 
"If  you  had  only  told  me  before,"  she  said  plain 
tively;  "if  you  had  only  confided  in  me  it  would  have 
saved  so  much  suffering.  Why  didn't  you  speak  be 
fore,  father?" 

Stanton  shook  his  head. 

"Very  well,  you — you  shall  be  obeyed,  father,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice.  "I'll  tell  him  that  you " 

"No,"  he  interrupted  quickly.  "No!  I  don't  wish 
him  to  know  that  I'm  in  any  way  cognisant  of  his 

282 


Chapter 

presence  here.  Simply  dismiss  him  and  let  him  go. 
Above  all,  make  him  understand  that  he  is  never  to 
come  here  again." 

Helene  nodded.  "If  his  coming  here  is  likely  to 
endanger  his  liberty,  he  must  not  come,"  she  thought. 
Stanton  thanked  her,  but  she  did  not  hear  his  words. 
Silently,  sorrowfully,  she  returned  to  the  music  room, 
where  she  found  Von  Earwig  awaiting  her. 

The  old  man  looked  up  as  she  entered  the  room. 
She  came  toward  him  and  looked  at  him  a  few  mo 
ments  in  silence.  The  same  tender,  gentle  smile  that 
had  so  endeared  him  to  her  from  the  first  was  on  his 
face.  She  could  not  bear  to  look  at  him,  so  she 
turned  her  gaze  away  and  spoke  without  seeing  him. 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,"  she  said,  "and  then  she 
paused.  It  was  so  hard,  so  very  hard,  to  say  what 
she  had  to  say.  He  stood  there  expectantly,  waiting 
for  her  to  continue,  as  a  little  child  looks  up  at  the 
sound  of  its  mother's  voice. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  she  said  in  a  deep,  low  voice.  "I 
— don't,"  still  she  hesitated,  then  finally,  with  much 
effort  she  said:  "I  cannot  take  any  more  lessons  from 
you." 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  compre 
hend  her  meaning. 

"Not  to-day,  no,  but  to-morrow?" 

Helene  shook  her  head. 

"Ah,  the  next  day!" 

Again  Helene  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said  in  an 
almost  inaudible  voice.  Von  Earwig  noted  that  her 
face  was  sad,  that  her  tone  was  low  and  mournful 

283 


tc  JWaster 

and  his  voice  faltered  as  he  asked,  with  his  usual 
smile,  "The  day  after  that,  perhaps?" 

"No,  Herr  Von  Earwig.  I  cannot  take  any  more 
lessons  from  you." 

"Cannot  take  any  more  lessons,"  he  repeated  me 
chanically;  then  as  he  realised  her  meaning  he  tried 
to  speak,  but  his  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his 
mouth.  There  was  a  long  pause,  during  which 
neither  of  them  spoke. 

"You  wish  me  no  more  at  all?  he  asked  finally. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  I  am  very  grateful;  believe  me 
I  am,  Herr  Von  Earwig,  but — "  she  shook  her  head 
rapidly.  She  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"I — do — not — understand,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
was  almost  inaudible,  for  his  heart  was  beating  so 
furiously  that  he  could  feel  its  palpitation.  She 
could  only  shake  her  head  in  reply.  Von  Earwig 
suddenly  found  his  voice,  for  he  was  desperate  now. 

"A  moment  ago  we  were  here,  good  friends,  and — " 
suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  him.  "Some  one  has 
told  you  that  I  played  at  the  Museum,  the  Dime 
Museum.  Ah,  is  that  indeed  so  terrible  ?  I  do  not 
play  there  from  choice,  believe  me,  dear — dear  Frdu- 
lein!  It  is  poverty." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know,  I  know!"  cried  Helene.  She 
was  nearly  frantic  now.  "It  is  not  your  fault,  but 
please,  please,  dear  Herr  Von  Earwig,  let  us  say  no 
more!  Good-bye,"  and  she  held  out  her  hand, 
"good-bye !  I  hope  better  fortune  may  come  to 
you." 

"No  better  fortune  can  come  if  you — if  you  are 

284 


Chapter 

not  there,"  wailed  Von  Earwig.  "You  don't  know 
— what  I  know;  if  you  did  you  would  realise  that — " 
he  paused.  UI  cannot  stay  away!  It  is  simply  im 
possible — I  cannot!" 

"You  must,"  said  Helene  firmly.  "Please  go! 
Don't  you  understand  that  it  is  as  hard  for  me  as  it 
is  for  you?" 

"Why  do  you  so  punish  me?"  pleaded  Von  Bar- 
wig.  "For  what?  What  have  I  done?" 

"I  am  not  punishing  you,  Herr  Von  Earwig.  I — 
Don't  ask  me  to  explain !  You  must  not  call  again. 
Please  go;  go!  There,  I've  said  it;  I've  said  it!" 
cried  Helene  in  despair,  and  she  walked  to  the  win 
dow  to  hide  her  emotion. 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  her  in  silence. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  after  a  few  moments  and  then 
he  looked  around  for  his  hat,  which  he  always  brought 
into  the  room  with  him. 

He  realised  that  it  was  useless  to  try  and  move  her 
and  he  turned  to  go.  He  reached  the  door  and  had 
partly  opened  it  when  he  felt  impelled  to  make  one 
more  effort. 

"I  leave  the  Museum,"  he  said  at  the  door.  "I  go 
there  no  more." 

Helene  shook  her  head.  The  old  man  came  toward 
her. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Miss  Helene,  I  must  speak," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice  choked  with  emotion;  his  Eng 
lish  was  very  broken  now.  "A  moment  ago  I  was 
thinking  what  shall  be  best  for  you,  for  your  future, 
your  happiness;  and  I  said  to  myself:  'Don't  say 

285 


QTfje 

that  which  will  perhaps  hurt  her  prospects,  her  fu» 
ture,  her  marriage  with  Herr  Beverly  Cruger!'  ' 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Helene  in  surprise. 
"What  can  you  say,  Herr  Von  Earwig,  that  will  hurt 
my  prospects  or  in  any  way  affect  my  marriage  with 
Mr.  Cruger?" 

"Ah,  I  don't  know  what  I  say,"  pleaded  Von  Bar- 
wig,  who  felt  at  that  moment  that  for  her  sake  he 
must  not  tell  her  who  he  was.  "I  don't  know  what 
I  say !  I  am  struck  down ;  I  cannot  rise,  1  cannot 
think!  Ah,  don't  discharge  me,  please  don't  dis 
charge  me!"  wailed  the  old  man  pitifully.  "Let  me 
come  here  as  I  always  do;  don't  send  me  away!" 

Helene  was  silent;  she  felt  that  she  could  say  no 
more. 

"It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  ever  begged 
of  a  living  soul,"  pleaded  Von  Barwig,  "and  now  I 
beg,  I  beg  that  you  will  not  send  me  away!  You 
have  made  me  so  happy,  so  happy,  and  now — please 
don't  discharge  me,  don't  discharge  me!"  It  was 
all  he  seemed  able  to  say. 

Helene  was  looking  at  him  now,  looking  him  full 
in  the  face  while  a  great  storm  was  surging  in  her 
mind.  "I  can't  obey  my  father,"  she  was  saying  to 
herself,  I  can't !  It's  too  hard — too  hard !  The  old 
man  mistook  her  silence  for  the  rejection  of  his 
prayer  and  slowly  turned  to  go.  The  shrinking  fig 
ure,  the  concentrated  misery,  the  hopeless  expression 
on  his  face,  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  the  pathetic  woe 
begone  listlessness  in  his  walk  were  too  much  for  her; 
she  could  resist  no  longer. 

286 


Chapter  Ctoent|>=tfoo 

"Herr  Von  Earwig,"  she  cried,  her  voice  ringing 
out  in  clear  strong  tones,  "I  don't  believe  it,  I  don't 
believe  it!"    He  turned  with  a  slight  look  of  inquiry 
on   his    face    and   gazed   at   her  through   his   tear- 
bedimmed   eyes.      "I    don't   believe    that   you    everj 
did   a    dishonourable   action   in   all   your  life,"   she? 
cried.    "My  father  is  mistaken,  mistaken !     I'm  sure  • 
of  it.M 

"Your  father?"  There  was  no  hesitation  in  his 
voice  now.  "Your  father,"  he  repeated,  his  voice 
rising  higher.  "Ah!"  and  a  flood  of  light  came  in 
upon  him.  "When  you  left  me  a  few  moments  ago, 
you  went  to  him,  and  then,  on  your  return — you — • 
you  sent  me  away;  is  it  not  so?  Tell  me,"  he  de 
manded,  "is  it  not  so?" 

Gone  was  the  hopeless  misery,  gone  were  the 
shambling  gait,  the  pathetic  smile,  the  helplessness 
of  resignation  to  overwhelming  conditions.  Gone, 
too,  were  the  tears,  the  pleading  look,  and  in  their 
place  stood  Anton  Von  Earwig,  erect  and  strong,  his 
eyes  glittering  with  fire,  the  fire  of  righteous  indigna 
tion,  his  voice  strong  and  clear.  Helene  looked  at 
him  in  amazement.  She  could  not  understand  the 
transformation. 

"Your  father!"  repeated  Von  Earwig  in  a  loud, 
stern  voice.  "So !  the  time  has  come !  I  think  per 
haps  I  see  your  father.  It  is  time  we  met;  a  little 
explanation  is  due.  Miss  Stanton,  I  shall  see — your 
—father." 

"Yes,  you  shall  see  him!"  said  the  girl.  "I'll— I'll 
speak  to  him  for  you ;  I  am  sure  you  can  explain." 

287 


;fWus;ic 

"Yes,  I  can  explain,"  said  Von  Earwig  with  a  low, 
hard  laugh.  "Where  is  he?" 

"In  the  library,"  replied  Helene. 

"Ah?  Then  I  go  there  and  see  him,"  said  Von  Bar- 
wig  in  a  decided  tone.  This  new  mental  attitude  of 
the  music  master  amazed  her.  The  little  low, 
shambling  figure  was  transformed  into  an  overwhelm 
ing  force. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  see  him  first,"  suggested 
Helene. 

"No,"  said  Von  Earwig.  "I  see  him."  His  tone 
was  almost  commanding.  Helene  looked  at  him  in 
astonishment.  She  was  pleased;  at  least  these  were 
not  signs  of  guilt  on  his  part.  She  no  longer  hesi 
tated. 

"Perhaps  you're  right,"  she  said.  "Come,  we'll  see 
him  together." 

Von  Earwig  followed  Helene  through  the  corridors 
that  led  to  the  library.  She  paused  a  moment  as  she 
stood  at  the  door  and  looked  around  at  Von  Earwig. 
There  was  a  stern,  cold,  hard  look  in  his  face  which 
was  new  to  her.  "He  feels  the  injustice  as  I  do," 
thought  Helene,  "and  he  is  angry.  Thank  God,  he 
will  be  able  to  clear  himself!"  She  turned  the  han 
dle  of  the  door  and  went  in.  Von  Earwig  followed 
her.  Stanton  was  sitting  at  a  desk  table,  writing,  as 
they  entered. 

"There  has  been  a  mistake,  father,"  she  said. 

Stanton  looked  up  and  started  as  if  he  had  been 
struck.  He  saw  his  daughter,  and  he  saw  the  man 
he  had  wronged  standing  there  in  the  doorway  like 

288 


Chapter  ®toentp=ttoo 

an  avenging  Nemesis.     He  tried  to  speak,  but  could 
not. 

''What's  the  matter,  father?"  cried  Helene  in 
alarm. 

"Nothing — nothing!"  replied  Stanton  incoherently. 
He  was  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"Helene,"  he  said,  forcing  himself  to  speak,  "I 
will  have  a  word  with  Herr  Von  Earwig  alone." 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  coming  in  unannounced, 
but  we  wanted  to  see  you,  father,"  began  Helene. 

"Yes,  yes;  please  excuse  us  now,  Helene.  I'll  see 
him  alone,"  said  Stanton,  speaking  with  great  diffi 
culty.  "Alone!"  he  repeated  sharply. 

Helene  turned  and  looked  at  Von  Earwig.  He 
stood  there  in  silence,  his  slight  figure  seeming  to 
tower  above  everything  in  the  room.  Even  Stanton, 
tall  as  he  was,  seemed  dwarfed  by  the  strong  person 
ality  of  the  music  master.  At  this  moment  Joles 
made  his  appearance.  "A  number  of  ladies  have  ar 
rived,  miss,"  he  said  to  Helene,  his  quick  eye  catching 
sight  of  Von  Earwig  without  looking  at  him.  "They 
are  in  the  reception-room." 

"I  must  go  at  once,"  said  Helene.  "I  forgot  all 
about  my  birthday  reception." 

"Young  Mr.  Cruger  and  his  father  are  asking  for 
you,  sir,"  Joles  said  quietly  to  Mr.  Stanton. 

"Ask  them  to  wait — I  must  see  this  gentleman," 
said  Stanton,  indicating  Von  Earwig.  Joles  bowed 
himself  out.  Helene  was  pleased  that  her  father  ac 
ceded  so  readily  to  her  wishes.  She  went  to  him  and 
placing  her  hand  on  his  arm  said  in  a  low  voice: 

289 


"Let  him  explain,  father!  I  want  him  to  come 
back  to  me.  It  will  make  me  very  happy — please — 
this  is  my  birthday." 

Stanton  nodded,  but  made  no  reply.  Helene 
gave  Von  Earwig  an  encouraging  smile  and  went, 
out  of  the  room,  quietly  closing  the  door  after; 
her. 

Von  Earwig  had  been  studying  the  man  before  him. 
There  was  quite  a  silence. 

"Well,  Henry  ?"  he  said  after  a  few  moments. 

"Anton,"  murmured  Stanton  in  a  low  tone  as  if 
ashamed  to  speak.  Von  Earwig's  eyes  glittered  as  he 
heard  his  name  familiarly  pronounced  by  the  man  he 
was  regarding  with  deadly  enmity. 

"The  world  has  revolved  a  few  times  since  I  last 
saw  you — but  I  am  here,"  he  said,  repressing  his 
anger;  and  this  repression  gave  a  curiously  hard  and 
guttural  effect  to  his  voice. 

"I  have  been  expecting  this  moment  for  a  long 
time,"  said  Stanton  in  a  conciliating  tone.  "I've  tried 
to  forget." 

"You  have  been  very  successful,"  replied  Von  Bar- 
wig.  "You  have  forgotten  your  own  name  for  six 
teen  years.  A  prosperous  friend  has  a  poor  memory,, 
Henry." 

"I  have  not  prospered,"  said  Stanton  quickly;  "that 
is,  not  in  the  real  sense  of  the  word.  I  am  rich,  yes; 
but  I  am  not  prosperous." 

"You  have  changed  your  name?"  said  Von  Earwig. 

"Yes;  my  uncle  Stanton  died  in  California.  I  took 
his  name  when  he  left  me  his  great  fortune," 

290 


Chapter 

"That  is  why  I  could  not  find  a  trace  of  you,"  said 
Von  Earwig  thoughtfully. 

Stanton  thought  he  detected  signs  of  relenting  in 
Von  Earwig's  voice. 

4 'I  suppose  there's  no  use  my  telling  you  how  sorry 
'I  am  for " 

"Sorry,  sorry!"  almost  screamed  Von  Earwig. 
"Does  that  bring  back  anything?  Does  that  put  six 
teen  years  in  my  hands  ?  Damn  the  empty  phrase  'I 
am  sorry'  when  there  is  no  use  in  being  sorry!" 

"I  have  repented,  Anton!  Before  God  I  have  re 
pented  !"  said  Stanton  huskily.  "She  made  me  repent, 
and  God  knows  she  repented.  She  never  had  one 
happy  hour  since  she  left  you !" 

Von  Earwig  was  silent. 

"This  is  the  only  blot  on  my  life — the  one  blot  on 
my  life,"  cried  Stanton. 

"And  that  one  blot  was  my  wife  and  child,"  said 
Von  Earwig.  "While  you  were  at  it  you  accom 
plished  a  great  deal.  Mein  Gott,  you  were  colossal! 
You  always  were  a  damned  successful  fellow, 
Ahlmann,"  he  added  vindictively. 

"Before  God,  Anton,"  cried  Stanton  with  a  show 

,of  emotion,  "I  didn't  mean  to  do  it;  I  swear  I  didn't. 

It  was  a  mad  impulse!     It's  not  in  my  real  nature." 

"Nature  never  makes  a  blunder.  When  she  makes 
a  scoundrel  she  means  it,"  said  Von  Earwig. 

Stanton  started  and  then  looked  through  the  library 
window.  His  sharp  ear  had  detected  the  sound  of 
carriage  wheels  stopping  in  front  of  the  house. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  he  asked  quickly. 

291 


tc  Jflasrter 

The  fear  of  exposure  was  doubly  increased  by  knowl 
edge  of  the  fact  that  his  guests  were  arriving.  Von 
Earwig  made  no  reply. 

"Bafwig,  for  God's  sake  don't  ruin  me !  At  least, 
IVe  given  the  child  everything.  She  knows  nothing, 
and  the  world  respects " 

"The  world  always  respects  a  successful  rascal," 
interrupted  Von  Earwig  with  a  harsh  laugh.  "Of  all 
people  he  is  the  most  respected.  Why,  if  I  had  not 
found  you,  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  live  on  a 
church  window-pane  after  you  died!  But  now  I  an 
ticipate  that  everybody  shall  know  your  virtues  while 
you  are  alive.  I  cut  off  that  window-pane!  I  am 
going  to  baptise  you,  Ahlmann ;  I  give  you  back  your 


name." 


"Anton,  Anton!  Why  not  sit  down  calmly  and 
talk  it  over?"  pleaded  Stanton. 

"Ah,  you  were  always  a  polite  man,  the  kind  women 
like ;  a  man  born  with  kid  gloves  and  no  soul.  Now 
we  take  off  the  gloves;  we  show  you  as  you  are,"  and 
Von  Earwig  shook  his  finger  at  the  man  opposite  him. 

There  were  echoes  of  laughter  out  in  the  hallway; 
Stanton  heard  them  and  trembled.  He  recognised 
the  voices  of  Mrs.  Cruger's  nieces.  If  these  gossips- 
ever  found  out  the  truth,  he  thought,  not  a  f airily  in; 
New  York  but  would  be  acquainted  with  the  facts  in 
twenty-four  hours. 

"Anton,  be  calm,"  he  pleaded.  "Give  me  a  few 
days  to  think  it  over." 

"No!"  declared  Von  Earwig. 

"A  few  hours,"  pleaded  Stanton. 

292 


Chapter  {SCtoent|>=tfc)o 

"No!"  repeated  Von  Earwig;  "not  even  a  few  min 


utes." 


Stanton  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Stay  here!"  commanded  Von  Earwig.  He  was 
plainly  master  of  the  situation  now,  for  Stanton  in 
stinctively  obeyed  him.  "If  I  let  you  go  into  the 
next  room  it  might  be  sixteen  years  before  you  got 
back  again!  Sit  down." 

Stanton  obeyed  him  and  there  was  a  slight  pause. 

"You  know  what  a  scandal  this  will  make,"  he 
pleaded. 

"I  know,"  replied  Von  Earwig  in  a  quiet  tone.  "I 
know!" 

"The  whole  country  will  ring  with  it,"  said  Stanton. 

"You  shouldn't  have  prayed  so  loud,  Ahlmann,"  re 
plied  Von  Earwig  with  a  sardonic  smile.  "You  laid 
too  many  cornerstones;  your  charities  are  too  well 
known.  You  should  have  kept  them  a  secret  and  not 
blazoned  your  generosity  to  the  whole  world.  When 
you  fed  an  orphan  or  a  widow  you  shouldn't  have  ad 
vertised  it  in  the  newspapers." 

Stanton  looked  at  him  and  saw  no  hope. 

"You're  going  to  ruin  me?"  he  asked. 

Von  Earwig  made  no  reply. 

"You're  going  to  tell  her?"  demanded  Stanton. 

"Yes,"  replied  Von  Earwig  in  a  quiet  tone;  "Fm 
going  to  tell  her." 

"You'd  better  think  first." 

"I  have  thought." 

"How  will  you  explain  her  mother's  shame?" 

"Ah !"  Von  Earwig  glared  at  him  in  silence.  "You 

293 


tc  jflaster 

will  shield  yourself  behind  the  mother,  eh?"  he  asked. 

"How  will  you  explain  her  mother's  shame?"  again 
asked  Stanton. 

"I  don't  explain  it!  You  talked  her  mother's 
name  away — now  talk  it  back!  You're  a  clever 
man  with  words.  You'll  find  a  way  out  of  it, 
Ahlmann." 

Stanton  was  now  almost  beside  himself  with  fear 
and  anger. 

"What  can  you  do  for  the  girl  after  you  have  dis 
graced  her?  Think  what  I  have  done  for  her," 
pleaded  Stanton.  "She  is  honoured,  respected,  cul 
tured,  refined,  a  lady  of  social  distinction.  Are  you 
going  to  drag  her  down  to  Houston  Street,  to  the 
Bowery,  to  the  Dime  Museum?" 

Von  Earwig  felt  the  force  of  this  argument,  and  he 
knew  there  was  no  reply  to  be  made.  His  anger  was 
gone — he  was  thoughtful  now. 

Stanton  saw  that  he  was  gaining  ground.  "For  her 
sake,  Von  Earwig,"  he  pleaded;  "for  her  sake!  Just 
think!" 

Von  Earwig  interrupted  him  with  a  gesture,  motion 
ing  him  to  silence. 

"Look  here,  Ahlmann,"  his  voice  was  strangely  quiet 
now.  "I  knew !  I  knew  an  hour  ago  who  you  were, 
whose  house  I  was  in.  As  she  sat  at  the  piano  near  me 
I  could  have  touched  her  with  my  hand.  My  heart 
cried  out,  'I  am  her  father;  I  am  her  father!'  For 
sixteen  years  I  wait  for  that  moment  and  then  I  get 
it;  I  get  it!  It's  mine;  but  I  pass  it!  I  put  it  aside; 
I  would  not  tell  her." 

294 


Cfjapter  ®toentp=ttoo 

"You  knew,"  interrupted  Stanton,  "and  you  did  not 
speak !" 

"I  would  have  come  here,  to  this  house,"  went  on 
Von  Earwig,  his  voice  quivering  with  excitement  and 
Demotion;  "I  would  have  come  and  gone  as  a  friend, 
an  old  friend,  if  you  had  kept  silent.  But  no,  two 
fathers  cannot  live  so  with  a  child  between  them. 
One  of  them  is  bound  to  speak  out  and  that  one  is 
you,  you !  You  spoke.  'Twas  you  who  said  to  your 
servants,  'Take  this  man  and  throw  him  into  the 
streets  like  a  dog.'  'Twas  you  who  destroyed 
my  letters;  'twas  you  who  destroyed  my  child's  let 
ters — letters  to  me.  'Twas  you  who  told  my  own 
flesh  and  blood  to  treat  me  as  a  dog — a  dog!  You 
made  me  plead  and  beg;  you  made  me  suffer  for  six 
teen  long  and  weary  years.  Now  I  take  what  is 
mine,"  screamed  Von  Earwig.  "You  hear!  I  take 
what  is  mine !"  and  he  strode  over  to  the  bell  and 
deliberately  rang  it. 

"Don't,  don't  for  heaven's  sake!"  shouted  Stanton, 
trying  to  restrain  him.  It  was  too  late  and  Stanton 
almost  fell  back  into  his  chair. 

"Come,  stand  up  !  To  your  feet,  Ahlmann !"  shouted 
sVon  Earwig  in  a  loud  voice.  "I  cannot  throw  you 
from  your  house  as  you  would  me;  but  I  can  empty 
it  for  you.  Come !  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  your 
friends."  He  threw  the  door  wide  open.  Stanton 
came  forward  as  if  to  close  it,  but  Von  Earwig  waved 
him  back.  "Stay  where  you  are,"  he  cried.  "I  in 
troduce  yon  to  your  friends  as  you  are.  She  shall 
-choose  between  us.  Against  your  money  and  respect- 

295 


ability  I  put  my  life.  Your  friends  shall  choose;  she 
shall  choose ;  the  young  man  she  is  to  marry — he  shall 
choose."  The  old  man  was  now  almost  incoherent. 
"I  have  her  back!  she  is  mine,  she  is  mine !"  At  this 
juncture  Joles  entered. 

"Speak;  tell  him!"  shouted  Von  Earwig.  "If  you 
don't,  I  do!" 

"Call  Miss  Stanton,"  said  Mr.  Stanton. 

"And  her  friends,"  commanded  Von  Earwig. 

Stanton  nodded  acquiescence;  and  Joles  left  the 
room. 

"You've  ruined  me;  and  you'll  ruin  her,"  said  Stan- 
ton  in  despair. 

"I  get  her  back,  I  get  her  back!"  repeated  Von  Bar- 
wig  over  and  over  again.  "She  is  mine." 

"Very  well !  she  is  yours,  then,"  replied  Stanton  in 
desperation.  "Yours  with  this  disgraceful  scandal 
over  her  head." 

"I  don't  care!  She  is  mine — I  get  her  back,"  was 
all  Von  Earwig  could  say. 

"Yours  with  her  engagement  at  an  end,  her  heart 
broken !     Yes,   her  heart  broken !      Do  you   think 
they'll    take    her    into    that    family,    do    you    think 
they    will    receive    your    daughter,    the    daughter/ 
of  a " 

Von  Earwig  was  now  almost  hysterical.  "If  they 
don't  take  her,  I  take  her!  If  they  don't  want  her, 
I  want  her.  She's  mine,  I'm  going  to  have  her!  I 
want  my  own  flesh  and  blood.  Do  you  hear,  Ahl- 
mann  ?  I'm  tired  of  waiting,  tired  of  starving  for  the 
love  of  my  own.  I'm  selfish,  I'm  selfish!"  in  his  ex- 

296 


Cfjaptet 

citement  the  old  man  banged  his  clenched  fist  several 
times  on  the  table.  "I'm  selfish!  I  want  her,  and 
by  God  I'm  going  to  have  her!"  At  this  juncture 
Helene  came  into  the  room.  There  was  a  dead 
silence.  Von  Earwig  saw  her  and  his  clenched  fist 
dropped  harmlessly  by  his  side.  He  stood  there 
silently  waiting.  Helene  looked  at  Mr.  Stanton ;  his 
head  was  bowed  low  and  he  uttered  not  a  word.  She 
looked  inquiringly  at  Von  Earwig.  He  seemed  in 
capable  of  speaking. 

"Father,"  she  said  in  a  low,  gentle  voice.  Neither 
man  answered.  Stanton  dared  not,  and  Von  Earwig 
steeled  himself  against  telling  her  the  truth.  Stan- 
ton's  words  had  had  their  effect;  Von  Earwig  was  un 
willing  to  ruin  the  girl's  chances  for  his  own  selfish 
interests. 

"You  have  explained?"  she  asked  Von  Earwig. 

He  nodded,  but  did  not  speak.  The  sound  of  ap 
proaching  voices  caught  their  ears.  Joles  threw  open 
both  doors  and  Mr.  Cruger  came  into  the  room 
with  his  son  and  Mrs.  Cruger,  followed  by  many 
others.  They  greeted  Mr.  Stanton,  who  welcomed 
them  as  well  as  he  could.  In  a  few  moments  the  con 
versation  became  general.  Von  Earwig  stood  apart 
from  them.  Mr.  Stanton,  nervous  and  anxious, 
watched  him  closely.  Mrs.  Cruger  fastened  a  beau 
tiful  diamond  pendant  on  Helene's  neck.  Mr. 
Cruger  kissed  her. 

"We  cannot  give  you  the  wealth  of  your  father,  my 
dear  child,"  said  he;  "but  we  can  give  you  a  name 
against  which  there  has  never  been  a  breath;  an  hon- 

297 


JWutfic  jfflaster 

oured  name,  a  name  with  which  we  are  very  proud  to 
entrust  you!" 

Von  Earwig  heard  this,  and  groaned  aloud  in  his 
misery. 

"I'm  very  happy,  very  happy!"  said  Helene. 
Others  gathered  around  the  happy  pair  and  showered 
congratulations  on  them.  After  a  short  while  Beverly 
saw  Von  Barwig  in  the  corner  of  the  room  and  wrent 
over  and  greeted  him.  Helene  joined  them. 

"Is  it  all  arranged  between  you  and  father?"  she 
asked. 

Von  Barwig  nodded. 

"I  knew  you  could  explain,"  said  Helene. 

"Yes,  he  has  let  me  explain !"  said  Von  Barwig 
with  a  deep  sigh.  He  was  quite  calm  now.  "Pardon 
the  liberty  I  take — I — forgive  me — "  he  placed  Bev 
erly's  and  Helene's  hands  one  in  the  other.  "Pardon 
the  liberty  I  take;  I  am  an  old  man,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice.  "I  wish  you  both — long  life — much  pros 
perity  —  much  happiness  —  much  joy  to  you  both. 
God  bless  you,  children;  excuse  me,  I  speak  as  a 
father.  God  bless  you!"  and  the  old  man  picked 
his  hat  up  from  the  table  on  which  he  had  deposited 
It  and  wiped  away  the  tears  that  were  coursing  down 
his  cheeks.  Stanton,  who  had  been  watching  him 
closely,  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.  Von  Barwig  went  out 
of  the  room  slowly,  shutting  the  door  behind  him. 


298 


Chapter  {Etoentp=ti)ree 

T  was  midwinter  nearly  a  year  later.  The  cold 
was  the  severest  in  the  memory  of  any  inmate  of 
the  Houston  Street  establishment,  including  Miss 
Husted  herself.  Everything  was  frozen  solid.  It  was 
nearly  as  cold  inside  the  house  as  it  was  outside,  greatly 
to  Miss  Husted's  dismay,  for  added  to  the  increased 
expenditure  for  coal,  the  services  of  the  plumber  to 
thaw  out  frozen  water  and  gas  pipes  were  in  constant 
requisition.  Houston  Mansion  was  a  corner  house 
with  an  open  space  next  door,  and  the  biting  north 
winds  on  three  sides  of  the  unprotected  old  walls 
added  greatly  to  the  discomfort  and  suffering  of  the 
"guests"  within.  In  every  sense  it  was  a  record 
breaker.  There  had  already  been  three  blizzards  in 
the  past  month  and  a  fourth  was  now  in  progress. 
It  was  on  the  top  floor,  however,  that  the  extreme 
severity  of  the  winter  was  felt.  The  cold  biting 
winds  howled  and  wailed  over  the  roof,  circling 
around  the  skylight  and  forcing  their  way  through 
the  cracked  and  broken  panes  of  glass.  It  was  im 
possible  to  keep  the  draughty  old  hallway  warm  with 
the  one  small  stove  intended  for  that  purpose.  Pinac, 
Fico  and  Poons,  huddled  together  around  the  fire 
bundled  up  in  their  overcoats,  had  to  place  their  feet 
on  the  stove  to  keep  them  warm  or  blow  on  their 
fingers  and  walk  about  the  room  to  keep  their  blood 
in  circulation. 

299 


tECfjc 

At  this  time  Pinac  and  Fico  were  playing  at  Gala- 
zatti's  for  their  dinners,  being  unable  to  obtain  more 
profitable  engagements,  and  Poons  was  playing  in  an 
uptown  theatre.  Poons  was  trying  to  save  enough 
money  to  get  married,  and  neither  Pinac  nor  Fico 
would  touch  a  penny  of  his  earnings,  although  the 
boy  generously  offered  them  all  or  any  part  of  his 
savings  to  help  them  tide  over  until  the  Spring,  when 
they  were  reasonably  sure  of  obtaining  lucrative 
engagements.  The  men  had  just  finished  their 
breakfast  and  Jenny  was  washing  the  dishes  for 
them. 

"I  shall  lay  a  cloth  for  the  breakfast  of  Von  Bar- 
wig  when  he  shall  wake  up,"  said  Pinac,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  word  and  spreading  a  red  tablecloth  on 
the  rickety  wooden  table.  "His  work  at  the  Museum 
keeps  him  so  late  he  must  sleep  late." 

"Sacoroto,  the  rotten  museum  he  play  at,  I  wish  it 
was  dead,"  growled  Fico. 

They  knew  now  that  Von  Earwig  played  at  a  cheap 
amusement  resort  on  the  Bowery,  and  that  it  kept 
him  out  till  early  morning;  and  they  loved  him  for 
it  all  the  more.  They  knew  that  necessity,  not  choice, 
had  driven  him  to  it.  Besides,  it  made  them  more 
akin  to  him,  for  it  brought  him  nearer  their  own  ar 
tistic  standard,  and  yet  they  did  not  lose  one  atom 
of  respect  for  the  old  man.  Gone  was  his  command 
ing  spirit,  and  in  its  place  was  a  quiet,  gentle  dignity 
which  called  forth  respect  as  well  as  love;  but  above 
all — love. 

"He  is  sleeping  later  than  usual,"  said  Jenny  as  she 

300 


Chapter  3Ctoentp=tfjm 

restored  the  crockery  to  its  proper  place  in  the  cup 
board 

"All  the  strength  of  the  coffee  will  boil  away,"  mur 
mured  Fico. 

"Parbleu !  we  make  new  coffee  for  him,"  replied 
Pinac. 

"He  have  sleep  long  enough.  I  call  him,"  said 
Fico,  tapping  lightly  on  the  door  of  the  lumber  room 
that  served  Von  Earwig  as  a  bedroom.  Receiving  no 
reply,  Fico  knocked  louder.  Finally  he  pushed  open 
the  door.  It  had  no  lock  on  it  and  the  catch  was 
broken.  Fico  looked  into  the  room,  shook  his  head 
and  then  turned  and  stared  at  his  friends.  "He  have 
gone  up,"  he  said  with  an  anxious  look.  "You  mean 
he  have  get  up,"  suggested  Pinac.  "Got  up!"  cor 
rected  Jenny.  "Yes,"  replied  Fico.  "He  is  got  up 
and  out." 

Poons,  who  had  not  quite  followed  the  intricacies 
of  the  conversation,  went  into  Von  Earwig's  room 
and  satisfied  himself  that  his  beloved  friend  was 
not  there.  The  three  men  stared  at  each  other. 
They  said  nothing,  but  the  expression  on  their 
faces  denoted  anxiety.  "Where  has  he  gone?" 
seemed  to  be  the  question  each  asked  silently  of  the.4 
other. 

Von  Earwig  had  been  very  quiet  in  the  past  year, 
so  quiet  that  his  actions  seemed  to  his  friends  to  be 
almost  mysterious.  Not  that  he  was  more  reserved 
than  usual,  but  there  was  a  calmness,  a  resignation  to 
existing  conditions,  a  listlessness  that  seemed  to  them 
to  amount  to  almost  a  lack  of  interest  in  life,  and 

301 


ir  Jlasrter 

this  mental  attitude  on  Von  Earwig's  part  caused 
them  no  little  anxiety. 

"It's  such  an  awful  day,"  said  Pinac  as  he  looked 
out  of  the  window. 

"By  God,  yes!"  assented  Fico.     "Another  bliz." 

The  wind  was  howling  up  and  down  the  streets  and 
flurries  of  snow  were  being  driven  against  the  win 
dows,  banging  the  shutters  to  and  fro  as  the  great- 
gusts  of  wind  caught  them  in  their  grasp.  The  iron 
catch  that  held  the  shutter  had  long  since  been  torn 
out  by  the  winter  blizzards,  and  the  constant  bang 
ing  sound  grated  harshly  on  the  sensitive  ears  of  the 
musicians.  Poons  suffered  more  than  the  rest,  and 
swore  roundly  in  German  every  time  the  shutter 
struck  against  the  window  jamb. 

"Jenny,"  came  the  shrill  voice  of  Miss  Husted  up 
the  stairway  at  the  back  of  the  hall.  That  lady  was 
more  than  ever  set  against  her  niece's  "taking  up  with 
a  musician,"  as  she  called  the  love  match  between 
Poons  and  Jenny.  Whenever  Miss  Husted  missed 
Jenny  on  the  floors  below  she  invariably  found  her 
upstairs  talking  to  young  August. 

"We  were  looking  for  the  professor,"  said  Jenny, 
\as  her  aunt's  head  came  up  into  view  from  the  stair 
case  below. 

"Looking  for  the  professor!  Why,  where  is  he?" 
asked  Miss  Husted.  "Surely  he  hasn't  gone  out  on 
a  day  like  this !  Why,  it's  not  fit  for  a  dog ;  not  fit 
for  a  dog !  Oh  dear,  dear !  I'll  be  worried  to  death 
till  he  comes  back,"  and  Miss  Husted  pressed  Skippy 
more  closely  to  her  and  went  down  stairs  again ;  not, 

302 


Chapter  3Ttoentp=tf)ree 

however,  without  first  sending  Jenny  to  the  floor  be 
low,  out  of  the  reach  of  Poons's  love-making  eyes. 

"It  is  true;  he  has  gone  out,"  said  Pinac  dolefully,  as 
he  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the  blizzard. 

Von  Earwig  had  risen  very  early  that  morning  and 
dressed  himself  with  more  than  his  usual  care.  He 
had  much  to  do,  for  on  the  morrow  he  was  to  depart 
from  the  shores  of  America  and  return  to  his  old 
home.  He  was  going  back  to  Leipsic,  and  the  steam 
ship  sailed  very  early  the  next  morning.  The  real 
cause  of  his  absence  at  that  moment  was  the  fact  that 
his  daughter  Helene  was  to  be  married  that  day,  and 
he  desired  to  witness  the  ceremony.  Altogether, 
there  was  much  to  be  done  and  little  time  to  do  it  in. 
He  had  told  Mr.  Costello  the  night  before  that  he 
was  not  going  to  return  to  the  Museum ;  so  that  was 
ended,  and  his  few  clothes  were  packed  in  his  little 
portmanteau  with  the  assistance  of  Jenny,  who  was 
the  only  one  who  knew  his  secret.  He  also  had  to  go 
downtown  and  buy  his  steamship  ticket  and  make  ar 
rangements  with  an  expressman  to  take  his  trunk, 
and  he  felt  he  must  say  good-bye  to  a  few  acquaint 
ances  before  he  went  away  forever.  So,  in  order  to 
complete  all  these  arrangements  in  time  to  get  to  the 
church  where  the  wedding  was  to  take  place,  he  had 
to  get  up  quite  early. 

Von  Earwig  did  not  mind  the  cold  weather  at  all. 
He  trudged  along  the  streets  and  stamped  his 
feet  to  keep  them  warm  while  he  brushed  the 
snow  off  his  face  as  it  blew  under  his  umbrella.  His 
heart  was  light,  for  he  rejoiced  that  his  darling 

303 


Helene  was  going  to  marry  the  man  she  loved.  Her 
happiness  was  assured,  he  thought;  besides,  he  him 
self  was  going  to  do  something.  He  had  a  plan  of 
action  and  he  was  going  to  carry  it  out.  During  the 
last  few  months  he  had  had  a  great  yearning  to  see 
his  old  home  again,  to  hear  his  native  language 
spoken,  to  hear  the  folk  songs  and  familiar  German 
airs  sung  once  more  and  to  look  upon  the  faces  of 
his  fellow-countrymen  again.  Now  that  he  knew  his 
child  was  happy,  he  felt  that  he  would  be  content 
simply  to  sit  placidly  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  mar 
ket-place  in  Leipsic,  and  watch  the  ebb  and  flow  of 
life  as  it  is  lived  over  there  in  the  beloved  Father 
land.  He  did  not  ask  to  take  part  in  it  or  to  be  one 
with  his  countrymen;  all  he  asked  was  the  privilege 
of  watching  their  life  for  the  few  remaining  years 
of  his  earthly  existence.  His  pride  had  completely 
gone  now,  and  it  caused  him  not  one  pang  to  feel  that 
he  had  left  his  native  land  in  the  flush  and  prime  of 
success  and  was  going  to  return  an  old,  broken-down 
failure.  On  the  contrary,  the  thought  of  again  walk 
ing  the  streets  of  his  native  land,  breathing  the  at 
mosphere,  and  hearing  the  voices  of  his  beloved  coun 
trymen  so  lightened  his  heart  that  his  steps  were  al 
most  elastic.  He  kicked  the  snow  aside  with  vigour, 
and  jumped  on  the  street  car  as  if  he  were  a  boy. 
He  saluted  the  conductor  with  such  a  hearty  good- 
morning,  that  the  man  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 
"You  must  be  feeling  pretty  good  to  call  this  a  good 
morning,"  said  that  functionary,  as  he  collected  his 
fare. 

304 


Chapter  2Ctoentp=t!)ree 

"Back  of  this  awful  blizzard  is  the  beautiful  sun* 
shine,"  said  Von  Earwig,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,  if  you  can  see  it!"  replied  the  man,  compelled 
to  smile  when  he  looked  into  Von  Earwig's  beaming 
face.  "How  far  are  you  going  downtown?"  asked 
the  conductor  to  prolong  the  conversation.  The  car 
was  empty,  and  Von  Earwig's  cheery  smile  encour 
aged  him  to  talk. 

"Bowling  Green,"  replied  Von  Earwig.  "I 
buy  my  ticket  back  to  Germany,"  he  added 
lightly. 

"Ah !"  said  the  man,  as  if  that  explained  everything. 
"You're  glad  to  go  back,  eh?  Most  of  'em  would 
never  have  come  if  they  knew  what  they  were  going 
to  get  over  here." 

Von  Earwig  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  laughed  a 
little. 

"If  you  don't  strike  it  right,"  went  on  the  car  con 
ductor,  "it's  worse  here  than  anywhere  in  the  world!" 
Von  Earwig  nodded.  "There's  no  room  in  America 
for  the  man  who  fails,"  he  added,  ringing  up  a  fare 
with  an  angry  jerk  and  then  relapsing  into  moody 
silence. 

After  many  delays,  owing  to  the  packing  of  the 
snow  on  the  car  tracks,  Von  Earwig  arrived  at  the 
steamship  office,  bought  his  ticket,  and  commenced 
his  weary  journey  uptown. 

"I  shall  see  her  to-day,"  he  thought.  "I  shall  see 
her.  How  beautiful  she  will  look  in  her  white  dress 
and  her  orange  blossoms!  He — he — will  give  her 
to  her  husband.  That  scoundrel!"  Von  Earwig's 

305 


heart  «;ank.     "But  she  is  happy,  she  is  happy !"  and 
this  thought  sustained  him. 

He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  memorable  moment 
in  which  he  had  placed  the  hand  of  his  beloved  pupil 
in  that  of  her  affianced  husband  and  wished  them 
joy  and  happiness.  He  had  written  to  her  and  told 
her  that  her  father,  Mr.  Stanton,  was  right;  that  it 
would  be  better  that  he  did  not  resume  his  teaching. 
He  had  done  this,  that  her  happiness  might  not  be 
destroyed  by  the  coming  to  light  of  the  scandal  that 
had  been  dead  and  buried  so  many  years.  He  felt 
it  would  not  be  right  in  the  highest  sense  for  him  to 
expose  Stanton  merely  to  gratify  his  own  sense  of  re 
venge.  He  believed  that  his  child  had  learned  to  love 
Stanton  as  her  own  father ;  that  it  would  be  a  cruelty 
to  her  to  expose  him;  that  it  would  rob  her  of  her 
social  position  and  perhaps  of  the  man  she  loved. 
The  girl  might  even  turn  on  him  and  hate  him  for 
his  selfish  indulgence  of  revenge  at  the  expense  of 
her  happiness.  At  the  very  best,  he  had  nothing  to 
offer  her,  and  he  knew  she  would  refuse  Stanton's 
bounty  when  she  learned  the  truth.  Von  Earwig 
had  reasoned  it  out  on  these  lines,  and  at  every  fresh 
pang  of  suffering  he  found  comfort  in  the  false  logic 
that  seemed  so  like  truth.  It  never  occurred  to  him 
that  Helene  disliked  Stanton;  that  she  felt  in  her 
heart  that  the  man  was  not  her  father;  and  that  young 
Cruger  would  have  married  her  in  spite  of  a  dozen 
scandals.  Furthermore,  he  did  not  even  dream  that 
his  pupil  loved  him  and  grieved  for  him  to  such  an 
extent,  that  Stanton  felt  it  absolutely  necessary  to 

306 


Cfjapter 

separate  them  completely  by  telling  her  that  her  old 
music  master  had  gone  back  to  Germany  and  had 
died  there.  The  car  windows  rattled  noisily  and  the 
bells  jangled  monotonously,  as  the  horses  tramped 
through  the  snow  on  their  way  uptown,  but  Von  Bar- 
wig  heard  them  not,  for  his  brain  was  thronged  with 
thoughts  of  his  darling  Helene  and  his  impending 
departure  to  his  own  country.  How  could  he  leave 
those  kind  hearts  in  Houston  Street — Jenny,  Poons, 
Miss  Husted,  Fico,  Pinac!  What  would  they  all 
say? 

Von  Earwig  bought  a  morning  paper  and  in  it 
he  read  that  his  daughter's  marriage  was  to  be  at 
tended  by  a  very  large  and  fashionable  audience ;  that 
admission  to  the  church  was  only  by  personal  invita 
tion.  Von  Earwig  started.  How  was  he  to  get  into 
the  church?  He  had  no  card  of  invitation.  He  al 
most  laughed  aloud  as  he  thought  of  his  position; 
her  own  father  would  not  see  her  married  because  he 
had  no  invitation.  He  must  invent  some  story  to  get 
in,  but  he  must  attract  10  attention.  No  one  who 
knew  of  his  association  with  the  family  must  see  him. 
He  dare  not  risk  a  public  expose  at  the  eleventh  hour. 
No,  her  happiness  must  not  be  clouded  even  for  a 
moment!  But  he  must  get  in;  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  that. 

When  Von  Earwig  arrived  at  the  church  there  were 
quite  a  number  of  people  gathered  there  in  spite  of 
the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  for  news  of  the  wed 
ding  had  been  largely  heralded  forth  by  the  New 
York  daily  papers,  owing  to  the  great  wealth  of  Mr. 

307 


Stanton  and  the  high  social  position  of  the  Crugers, 
and  it  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  great  fashion 
able  events  of  the  year. 

Thanks  to  Mr.  Stanton's  love  of  display  and  lavish 
outlay  of  money,  the  presents  had  been  enumerated, 
the  trousseau  described,  the  names  of  the  guests  pub 
lished  in  all  the  fashionable  papers,  greatly  to 
Helene's  annoyance.  She  would  have  preferred  a 
quiet  little  wedding  unattended  save  by  those  directly 
interested  in  the  marriage,  but  Mr.  Stanton  wanted 
to  spend  money,  and  he  did,  most  lavishly.  A  spe 
cial  orchestra  and  tons  of  flowers  were  ordered,  not 
withstanding  that  it  was  midwinter,  and  every  prom 
inent  social  and  political  person  available  had  been 
invited  to  attend.  In  consequence,  a  platoon  of 
police  was  needed  to  keep  the  crowds  back,  and  when 
Von  Earwig  arrived,  a  long  line  of  carriages  had  al 
ready  formed  at  the  church  door. 

A  policeman  barred  his  way  when  he  attempted  to 
enter  without  a  ticket.  uSorry,  sir;  but  we  must  obey 
orders,"  said  the  man  in  uniform.  It  was  the  same 
at  all  the  doors,  and  Von  Earwig  soon  saw  that  it 
was  useless  to  attempt  to  get  in  without  a  ticket.  He 
fltood  there  for  a  few  moments  trying  to  think  what 
he  should  do,  when  he  saw  several  men  carrying 
violins  and  other  musical  instruments  going  through 
a  small  side  door  on  the  side  street,  off  Fifth  Avenue, 
that  led  into  the  vestry  situated  at  the  end  of  the 
great  church.  "I  am  a  musician;  I  go  in  with  the 
musicians,"  said  Von  Earwig,  and  he  followed  the 
men,  unchallenged  and  unquestioned  through  the  pas- 

308 


Chapter  2CtDentp=tfjree 

sage  leading  to  the  vestry  and  from  thence  into  the 
body  of  the  great  church.  "For  the  first  time  in  my 
life,"  thought  Von  Earwig,  "my  profession  is  of  ser 
vice  to  me!" 

The  great  church  was  beautifully  decorated  with 
flowers,  and  the  guests  were  now  beginning  to  arrive. 
Von  Earwig,  unobserved,  crept  silently  to  the  dark 
est  and  farthest  end  of  the  church.  He  seated  him 
self  in  a  great  pew  on  the  centre  aisle,  where  he  could 
see  without  being  seen.  The  church  was  now  filling 
up;  it  was  a  splendid  sight.  The  orchestra  and  the 
organ  played  some  selections;  finally  the  wedding 
march  from  Lohengrin  sounded,  and  every  one  arose 
to  get  a  peep  at  what  was  happening  in  the  centre 
aisle.  Von  Earwig  craned  his  neck  to  see.  The 
bride  had  entered  the  church  and  was  coming  up  the 
aisle  on  the  arm  of  Mr.  Stanton,  her  supposed  father, 
preceded  by  the  ushers.  The  bridegroom  and  his 
best  man  awaited  them  at  the  chancel  steps.  At  the 
sight  of  Stanton  Von  Earwig  felt  his  heart  beat 
thickly.  This  man  had  broken  up  his  home,  robbed 
him  of  his  wife  and  child,  and  now  posed  as  the  girl's 
father.  What  a  splendid  revenge  he  could  take  by 
publicly  denouncing  him  in  the  midst  of  his  friends. 
Von  Earwig  quickly  stifled  any  impulse  in  that  direc 
tion.  He  had  come  to  witness  his  daughter's  hap 
piness,  not  to  mar  it  by  the  demonstration  of  publicly 
unmasking  a  villain.  He  sat  back  in  his  seat  and 
watched  the  proceedings  with  breathless  interest. 

The  marriage  ceremony  proceeded.  The  old  clergy 
man  who  read  the  service,  unlike  most  of  bis 

309 


class,  read  it  with  feeling,  as  if  he  understood  the 
meaning  of  the  words  he  was  uttering.  So  clear,  so 
natural  was  his  utterance  that  Von  Earwig  followed 
every  word  of  it,  scarcely  realising  that  the  man  was 
reading  and  not  merely  speaking.  When  he  came  to- 
the  question,  "Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married 
to  this  man?"  the  clergyman  looked  around  the 
church  as  if  expecting  some  one  in  the  vast  congrega 
tion  to  rise  and  say,  "I  do."  There  was  no  answer. 
It  seemed  to  Von  Earwig  that  the  minister  was  look 
ing  directly  at  him,  and  not  only  looking  at  him,  but 
tacitly  asking  a  reply.  Once  more  in  compelling  tones 
came  the  momentous  question,  "Who  giveth  this 
woman  to  be  married  to  this  man?"  Von  Earwig 
was  now  quite  positive  that  the  clergyman  was  ad 
dressing  himself  directly  to  him,  and  he  felt  that  the 
moment  had  come  to  declare  the  truth  to  the  whole 
world. 

As  in  a  dream  one  makes  no  effort  to  connect 
the  present  with  the  past  or  future  or  to  account  in 
any  way  for  the  logic  of  events,  so  did  Von  Earwig 
make  no  effort  to  understand  how  or  why  his  secret 
was  known  to  the  clergyman.  He  simply  accepted 
the  fact  as  it  appeared  to  him  and  made  no  effort  to 
resist  the  impulse  to  rise  and  declare  himself.  So 
when  Henry  Stanton  uttered  the  words,  "I  do,"  al 
most  at  the  same  moment  from  the  back  of  the  church 
came  the  loud,  deep  voice  of  Von  Earwig  quivering 
with  emotion,  "I  do,  I  do!"  Everybody  arose  and 
looked  around.  For  a  moment  there  was  great  con 
sternation  in  the  church.  Cries  of  "Hush,  hush  I" 

310 


Chapter 

came  from  every  quarter  and  several  of  the  ushers 
came  over  to  the  pew  in  which  Von  Earwig  sat.  At 
the  sound  of  Von  Earwig's  voice,  Helene  started  as 
if  she  had  received  an  electric  shock.  Beverly 
thought  she  was  going  to  faint  and  supported  her 
with  his  arm. 

Helene  recognised  in  a  moment  that  it  was  the  voice 
of  her  old  music  master,  the  man  she  had  been 
told  was  dead  and  buried  months  ago.  She  looked 
quickly  at  Mr.  Stanton  for  an  explanation.  "He  is 
not  dead;  what  does  it  mean?"  she  asked.  "Go  on 
with  the  ceremony,"  was  all  the  reply  she  could  get 
from  Mr.  Stanton.  The  clergyman  went  on  quietly 
with  the  marriage  service.  Von  Earwig,  as  soon  as 
the  usher  tapped  him  on  the  arm,  realised  that  he 
had  made  a  dreadful  mistake,  and  sank  back  into  his 
seat,  trembling  with  excitement  and  shame.  He  had 
not  intended  to  do  such  a  thing  and  could  not  explain 
even  to  himself  how  it  had  happened.  The  wedding 
ceremony  was  now  over,  the  process  of  signing  and 
witnessing  gone  over  in  the  vestry,  and  in  a  short 
while  the  bride  and  bridegroom  came  down  the  aisle 
to  the  sound  of  Mendelssohn's  inspiring  wedding 
march.  As  they  passed  by  the  pew  in  which  Von 
Earwig  crouched  to  avoid  recognition,  some  of  the 
roses  in  the  bride's  bouquet  fell  to  the  ground  almost 
at  his  feet.  He  picked  them  up  and  tenderly  kissed 
them.  Apparently  unconscious  of  his  presence, 
Helene,  surrounded  by  her  friends,  passed  down  the 
aisle,  down  the  steps  and  out  into  her  carriage  es 
corted  by  Beverly.  They  were  both  radiantly  happy. 


JiWaster 

"It's  a  happy  marriage/'  said  society  with  an  ap 
proving  nod. 

"It's  a  happy  marriage,"  alike  said  friends  and  re 
lations. 

"It's  a  happy  marriage,"  said  the  stranger  outside 
as  the  blushing  bride  stepped  into  her  carriage  and 
the  smiling  bridegroom  closed  the  door  shutting  them 
out  from  view. 

"It's  a  happy  marriage,"  echoed  Von  Earwig  as  he 
trudged  through  the  snow  on  his  way  home.  "It's 
a  happy  marriage.  Thank  God  for  that!" 


Cfjapter 

S  Von  Earwig  walked  wearily  up  the  stairway  < 
leading  from  the  third  floor  to  the  top  floor/ 
(or  atelier  as  Miss  Husted  preferred  to  call^ 
it) ,  he  heard  the  sounds  of  music.    It  was  Fico  play 
ing  a  waltz,  "The  Artist's  Life,"  on  the  mandolin, 
while  Poons  extemporised  a  pizzicato  accompaniment 
on  the  'cello. 

"Ah,  my  boys,  they  are  in,"  he  said  to  himself.  "I 
hope  they  didn't  wait  breakfast  for  me." 

"Professor,  professor!"  came  the  cheery  voice  of 
Miss  Husted,  as  she  greeted  him  warmly.  "I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you  !" 

The  music  stopped. 

"Hello,  Anton,  old  friend,"  cried  Fico  as  he 
grasped  Von  Earwig  by  the  hand. 

"Go  on  playing,  don't  stop  for  me!"  said  Von  Bar- 
wig,  taking  off  his  rubbers  and  brushing  the  snow 
off  his  hat  and  coat. 

Poons  hurriedly  put  away  his  'cello.  He  was 
ashamed  of  playing  ordinary  waltz  music  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Von  Earwig.  With  him  tradition  was  strong; 
the  old  man  was  still  Herr  Von  Earwig,  the  great 
Leipsic  Gewandhaus  Concert  conductor,  with  whom 
his  father  had  had  the  honour  of  playing  first  horn. 
The  boy's  mother  had  instilled  this  into  his  very 
soul. 

"Why,  Great  Scott  I     Look  at  him !     Where  have 


ic  Jflaster 

you  been?  Ma  foi,  you  look  like  a  wedding;  oh, 
.Fico?"  and  Pinac  pointed  to  Von  Earwig. 

"That's  so,  professor,  you  look  just  as  handsome  as 
a  bridegroom,"  burst  out  Miss  Husted. 

Von  Earwig  wore  a  grey  satin  tie,  a  flower  was 
pinned  in  the  lapel  of  his  old  Prince  Albert  coat,  and 
his  spotlessly  clean  cuffs  and  kid  gloves  gave  him  an 
appearance  of  festivity  that  was  most  unusual. 

""A  wedding?  You  are  right,  all  of  you!"  said 
Von  Earwig,  with  a  deep  breath.  Then  he  added, 
"I  have  been  to  a  wedding,  yes,  a  wedding!  Ah, 
Jenny,  how  is  my  little  girl?"  Von  Earwig  took  the 
flower  he  had  in  his  coat  and  placed  it  in  her  hand. 
"Wear  it,  Jenny,  wear  it !  Perhaps  it  will  bring  you 
good  fortune !  There  should  be  two  weddings,  not 
one,"  he  added,  looking  at  Poons. 

"Two,  indeed!"  ejaculated  Miss  Husted,  with  a 
toss  of  her  curls.  "One  is  too  many  sometimes!" 
Then  she  asked  suddenly,  "Have  you  had  your  break 
fast  yet?" 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head. 

"Then,  professor,  you  won't  say  no  to  a  bite  of  hot 
breakfast  with  me,"  and  Miss  Husted  smiled  sweetly. 

Von  Earwig  still  shook  his  head. 

"Ah,  do,"  pleaded  Jenny. 

"Dear,  good,  kind  hearts,  no!  Many  thousand 
thanks,  no !  I  have  much  to  do.  Early  to-morrow 
morning,  my — "  He  was  going  to  tell  them  that  the 
steamship  on  which  he  had  taken  passage  was  going 
to  sail  early  next  morning.  He  looked  at  them  all 
and  did  not  complete  his  sentence.  "How  can  I 

314 


Chapter 

tell  them  I  am  going  to  leave  them  forever,"  he 
thought. 

"I  am  not  at  all  hungry;  I  have  had  breakfast, 
I  assure  you,"  he  added  quickly,  partly  to  change  the 
subject,  and  partly  to  avoid  breakfasting  alone  with 
Miss  Husted.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  listen  to 
imaginary  troubles. 

"I'm  sorry,  very  sorry!"  sighed  that  lady,  and  she 
went  downstairs,  disappointed,  taking  Jenny  with  her. 

Von  Earwig  put  on  his  little  velvet  house  coat. 
"What  have  you  for  lunch,  boys?"  he  asked.  "I  am 
a  bit  hungry." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Pinac,  quickly  jumping  up  and 
opening  the  cupboard  which  housed  their  slender 
stock  of  provisions.  "Some  sausage,  some  loaf,  some 
cold  potato,"  he  said,  as  he  surveyed  the  contents  of 
the  shelf  on  which  reposed  the  articles  mentioned. 

"Good;  splendid!"  said  Von  Barwig. 

Fico  laid  the  cloth  while  Poons  set  the  knives  and 
forks. 

"And  here's  a  'arf  bottle  of  wine,"  said  Pinac. 

"The  same  wine  as  yesterday?"  asked  Von  Barwig. 

"The  very  same  wine,"  replied  Pinac,  handing  him 
the  bottle. 

The  old  man  pulled  out  the  cork  and  smelled  the 
contents  of  the  bottle.  "It  was  wine;  it  is  vinegar," 
he  remarked  tersely  as  he  handed  Pinac  back  the 
bottle.  "I  prefer  coffee !" 

Pinac  rushed  to  get  it.  Poons  put  on  a  few  coals 
and  some  more  wood  into  the  little  stove,  and  the 
process  of  coffee-making  began. 


Cfje  JWuStc  jfWaster 

"There's  nothing  like  hot  coffee  to  cheer  you  up  on 
a  cold  day,"  said  Von  Barwig,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"Not  that  I  need  cheering  up,  boys,"  he  added 
quickly;  "but  hot  coffee,  the  smell  alone  is  enough  to 
— to — whoever  invented  hot  coffee  was  a  genius  1 
The  chord  of  the  ninth  and  the  diminished  seventh 
were  ordinary  discoveries ;  any  musician  was  bound  to 
stumble  across  them  sooner  or  later.  But  this,"  and 
he  poured  the  ground  coffee  into  the  pot,  "is  a  posi 
tive  invention  of  genius  1" 

Pinac  noticed  that  Von  Barwig  was  thinking  of 
something  else  than  what  he  was  saying,  for  his  eyes 
were  glistening,  and  he  was  obviously  labouring  under 
some  great  excitement. 

"We  could  have  waited  for  you,  Anton,  but  we 
were  cold,"  said  Pinac.  "And  hungry,"  added 
Fico. 

"You  were  right;  quite  right!"  said  Von  Barwig. 

"Whose  wedding  did  you  attend,  Anton?"  asked 
Pinac. 

"A  pupil's  wedding,"  answered  Von  Barwig  quickly; 
as  if  he  expected  the  question  and  was  prepared  to 
.answer  it.  "Gott  in  Himmel,  it's  cold!  Ha,  of 
course,"  and  he  looked  up;  "that  skylight  isn't 
mended!  Dear  Miss  Husted,  she  always  forgets  it. 
I  must  fix  it  myself.  Yes,"  he  went  on  thoughtfully, 
"a  pupil  of  mine  was  married;  a  young  lady.  She 
is  very  happy,  very  happy;  and  I  am  happy  that  she 
is  happy — I  must  always  remember  that." 

"Remember  what?"  inquired  Fico  after  a  pause. 

"Always  remember  that  this  is  a  happy  moment  and 

316 


Chapter  Ctoentp-four 

that  I  must  live  on  it.  This  moment  is  my  future; 
it  is  all  I  have  to  live  on.  The  wedding  day  of  my 
pupil  is  the  sum  and  end  of  all  for  me." 

"Was  it  a  fine  wedding,  Anton?"  asked  Pinac 
gently.  He  could  see  that  the  old  man  was  much 
moved  and  he  wanted  to  bring  him  out  of  the  world 
of  abstract  ideas  into  the  world  of  tangible,  concrete 
thought. 

"Very  fine,"  replied  Von  Earwig.  There  was  si 
lence  for  a  moment,  then  he  went  on  reminiscently : 
"The  father  and  mother  of  the  bridegroom  sat  in 
church.  The  mother  of  my  little  pupil  is  dead,  or 
she — she  would  have  been  there.  When  the  minister 
said,  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this 
man?'  perhaps  you  think  I  did  not  envy  that  father 
who  answered  'I — I  do !'  Ah,  he  was  a  fine  looking 
man,  indeed  yes,  a  fine  looking  man !  After  the  wed 
ding  was  over — I — I  walked  home.  What  is  in  my 
heart  I  cannot  tell  you;  but  she  is  happy,  happy! 
What  more  can  I  ask?  What  more  dare  I  ask?"  he 
broke  off  suddenly. 

"What  is  it,  Anton?"  asked  Fico  gently,  uyou  are 
worried,  anxious!" 

"You  are  in  trouble,  Anton,"  said  Pinac,  taking  Von 
Earwig's  hand.  "Come  confide  in  your  friends;  they 
help  you." 

Von  Earwig  forced  a  laugh.  "I  troubled?  Why, 
no,  no !  I  have  been  to  a  wedding;  a  happy  wedding, 
a  smiling  bride,  a  fine  fellow  of  a  bridegroom.  A 
few  tears,  yes;  but  happy,  happy  tears!  Come, 
come,  long  faces!  Cheer  up,"  cried  Von  Earwig 

317 


Jllustc 

hysterically,  and  he  slapped  Poons  on  the  back  to 
conceal  his  emotion. 

"Mazette!  Do  you  smell  something ?"  inquired 
Pinac,  sniffing  the  air.  "Something  is  burning!" 

Von  Earwig  started  and  hastily  looked  into  the  coffee 
pot.  "Ach  Gott,  boys,"  he  said,  "it's  the  coffee  1"  and 
he  laughed. 

"Is  it  boiling?"  asked  Pinac. 

"Boiling!  No,  it's  burning!  I — forgot  to  put  the 
water  in  it,"  and  he  laughed  aloud. 

"Let  me  make  the  coffee  this  time,"  said  Pinac,  busy 
ing  himself  at  that  occupation  without  further  delay. 

"Yes,  and  I  mend  that  skylight,"  said  Von  Earwig, 
climbing  up  the  steps  that  led  to  the  skylight  window. 
But  Von  Earwig  was  not  successful.  The  wind  was 
so  strong  that  it  blew  away  everything  that  he  tried 
to  substitute  for  the  missing  pane  of  glass.  Finally 
he  determined,  as  he  could  not  mend  it,  to  stuff  it  up 
temporarily  and  to  that  end  he  asked  Pinac  to  hand 
him  up  a  cloak,  which  was  lying  on  a  chair,  and  which 
he  thought  was  his  own.  His  effort  to  stuff  it  into 
the  broken  skylight  was  only  too  successful,  for,  as 
it  went  through  to  the  other  side,  the  wind  caught  it, 
tore  it  out  of  his  hands  and  blew  it  completely  away. 
There  was  a  great  outcry  as  the  men  realised  thatv 
Pinac's  overcoat  had  blown  away  and  was  lost.  It 
was  only  when  Jenny  brought  up  the  missing  article, 
which  had  fallen  into  the  street  below,  that  their 
excitement  was  allayed.  Von  Earwig  made  no  fur 
ther  effort  to  mend  the  skylight. 

A  little  later,  after  the  men  had  gone  out  to  their 

318 


Chapter  Ctoentp=f our 

respective  engagements,  Jenny  found  Von  Earwig 
busily  engaged  in  packing  his  last  few  remaining  pos 
sessions  into  the  little  old-fashioned  portmanteau 
which  he  had  brought  over  from  Leipsic  with  him. 
He  had  pulled  it  out  into  the  hallway,  as  his  room 
was  too  small  for  him  to  pack  comfortably. 

"I've  packed  all  your  other  things  away.  Every 
thing  is  ready  now,"  said  Jenny  in  a  low  voice. 

The  old  man  nodded  and  patted  her  hand  as  if  to 
thank  her  for  all  her  goodness. 

"Have  you  told  them?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  replied  Von  Earwig  sadly;  "I  can't,  I  haven't 
the  courage.  I  can't  stand  parting;  I  shall  write 
them." 

Jenny  was  so  filled  with  emotion  that  she  could 
hardly  speak.  "You  told  me"  she  said  after  a  while. 

"Yes,  you  are  the  only  one  that  could  understand. 
I  had  to  tell  you,  Jenny !  I  can't  go  like  a  thief  in  the 
night  without  letting  some  one  know.  You  will  tell 
them  that  I  had  to  go,  that  there  was  nothing  else  to 
do.  Explain  for  me;  you  will  do  that,  won't  you? 
Don't  let  them  think  that  I — I  didn't  care." 

Jenny  nodded.  Tears  were  running  down  her 
cheeks.  "And  you  never  found  the  baby,  the  lost 
little  girl  you  came  over  to  find ;  the  baby  that  is  now 
a  young  lady?" 

"Ja,  I  go  back  without  her,"  said  Von  Earwig* 
avoiding  the  question.  "That  is  our  secret,  eh,  little 
friend?  You  will  never  speak  of  it,  never  tell  a  soul, 
eh  ?  And  you  write  to  me,  you  tell  me  all  the  news  of 
the  neighbourhood.  Let  me  know  how  the  poor 

319 


ic  faster 

pupils  get  on  without  their  old  music  master.  Here, 
Jenny !  here  is  money  for  stamps." 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "No,  no!"  she  cried, 
"not  that!" 

"Hush!  Money  for  stamps  for  the  little  letters, 
about  the  little  pupils,"  and  Von  Earwig  pressed  a 
bill  into  her  hand. 

"Any  one  on  these  woiks?"  bellowed  a  loud,  deep 
bass  voice  from  below. 

Von  Earwig  started  as  he  recognised  the  voice  of 
Mr.  Al  Costello.  "I  see  you  again  before  I  go, 
Jenny,"  he  said  quickly  as  the  portly  person  of  the 
Museum  manager  emerged  up  the  stairway.  He 
carried  a  large  newspaper  parcel  in  his  hands.  Jenny 
looked  in  amazement  at  the  fat,  florid  face  of  the 
big  man.  The  incongruity  of  this  great  big,  noisy 
individual  calling  on  the  dear,  quiet  little  professor 
was  too  much  for  her  and  she  went  away  wondering. 

"Say,  profess'!"  bawled  he  of  the  large  diamond; 
"if  the  freak  that  runs  this  joint  don't  put  some  one 
on  the  door,  one  of  these  days  she'll  get  her  props 
pinched." 

Von  Earwig  bowed.  He  had  not  the  slightest  idea 
what  Mr.  Costello  was  talking  about,  but  he  knew 
it  was  advice  of  some  sort  and  that  he  must  appear 
to  be  grateful. 

After  shaking  hands  with  Von  Earwig  and  making 
a  few  passing  inquiries  as  to  the  night  professor's 
health  Mr.  Costello  came  to  the  direct  object  of  his 
visit. 

"The  members  of  my  bloomin',  blink  house,"  began 

320 


Chapter  Ctoentp-four 

Mr.  Costello  in  his  most  ponderous  manner,  "want 
me  to  present  you  with  this — er — token,  as  a  memento 
and  a  souvenir  and  a  memorial  of  the  occasion,  in 
which  our  night  professor  gave  us  the  grand  shake, 
or  words  to  that  effect.  I  can't  remember  the  exact 
hinkey  dink  they  gave  me;  but,  professor,  it  amounts 
to  this,"  and  Mr.  Costello  unwrapped  the  parcel  he 
had  so  carefully  brought  upstairs  with  him.  "This 
loving  cup  is  a  token  of  the  regard  and  esteem 
in  which  you  are  held  by  us  in  general,  and  me  and 
my  wife  in  particular.  And  I  can  tell  you  my  wife  is 
particular,  very  particular,"  added  Mr.  Costello  sen- 
tentiously.  "Here,  take  it!"  and  the  Bowery 
Museum  proprietor  thrust  a  large  pewter  water 
pitcher  into  Von  Earwig's  hands. 

The  old  man  was  quite  surprised  and  not  a  little 
affected.  This  new  proof  of  the  affection  of  the 
poor,  unfortunate  creatures  who  made  their  afflictions 
the  means  of  earning  their  livelihood  touched  him  to 
the  very  heart,  and  for  a  moment  he  was  unable  to 
find  words  to  express  his  feelings. 

Mr.  Costello  lit  a  cigar. 

Von  Earwig  looked  at  the  water  pitcher  and  then  at 
Costello  and  began:  "Mr.  Costello,  and — -and — "  he 
paused. 

"Freaks,"  prompted  Costello. 

"No,  no!"  interposed  Von  Earwig  quickly.  "No, 
not  freaks!  Ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  Curio 
Salon." 

4<very  neatly  put,  but  they'd  get  a  swelled  head  if 
they  heard  it,"  broke  in  Costello,  puffing  on  his  cigar. 

321 


c  Jilaster 

"I  accept  your  gift  with — with  great — great  pleas- 
ure/'  went  on  Von  Earwig;  "with  more  pleasure  thars 
I  can  say!" 

"Drink  hearty  and  often,"  said  Costello  loudly, 
"May  it  never  be  empty!  Say,  profess',  the  fat 
woman's  all  broke  up;  honest,  she  liked  you  !"  and  the 
big  man  roared  with  laughter  at  the  bare  idea  of 
the  stout  lady's  sorrow. 

"The  midgets,"  inquired  Von  Earwig.  "How  is 
their  health?" 

"You  couldn't  kill  'em  with  an  axe!"  replied  Cos 
tello. 

"And  'eat  'em  alive!'  She  is  still  eating  'em,  eh?" 
inquired  Von  Earwig  with  a  slight  smile. 

"She  does  nothing  but  eat!  Ah!  she  gives  me  a 
pain;  she's  a  four-flush!"  growled  the  Museum  pro 
prietor.  "She  don't  make  good!" 

"Tell  them,  I  have  grown  fond  of  them  all,  and  I — 
part  from  them  with  regret,  deep  regret!  They 
have  kind  hearts.  Ah,  there  are  many  kind  hearts  in 
this  world,"  and  Von  Earwig  sighed  deeply. 

Costello  looked  at  him  and  shook  his  head  slowly: 
the  man  was  touched.  That  any  one  could  express 
anything  like  affection  or  sentiment  for  the  poor 
creatures  in  his  curiously  asserted  collection  was  a 
marvel  to  him. 

"Put  it  there,  profess',"  he  said,  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  Von  Karwig.  "You're  all  right,  profess'; 
you're  all  right,  and  your  job  is  always  open  for  you, 
rain  or  shine,  summer  or  winter!  You  can  always 
come  back — good  or  bad  biz — the  job  is  yours  for  the 

322 


Cfjapter  Ctoentp-four 

askin'.  There  ain't  nobody  that  can  touch  you  in 
your  line ;  and  you're  all  to  the  good  at  that !  Good 
bye,  profess1,''  and  shaking  Von  Earwig's  hand 
heartily  the  big  man  went  away,  leaving  the  object 
of  his  praises  standing  alone,  deep  in  thought. 

His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  a  slight 
scream.  It  was  Miss  Husted.  She  had  met  Mr. 
Costello  on  the  stairway,  and  that  gentleman  had 
frightened  her  by  playfully  poking  her  in  the  ribs 
and  bursting  into  a  loud  laugh. 

Von  Earwig  hastily  put  the  water  pitcher  into  his 
trunk. 

"What  a  rude  man!"  declared  Miss  Husted,  as 
she  came  into  the  room,  holding  Skippy  in  one  hand 
and  a  dish  of  hot  steak  and  potatoes  in  the  other. 
"Well,  professor — "  she  said  with  her  sweetest  smile, 
"if  Mahomet  won't  come  to  the  breakfast,  the  break 
fast  must  come  to  Mahomet!  There's  some  hot 
coffee  downstairs,  oh,  I  see  you  have  some,"  she  said, 
as  she  looked  at  the  coffee  pot  on  the  stove;  "come 
now,  sit  down  and  eat!" 

Von  Earwig  meekly  obeyed  her.  In  his  excitement 
he  had  forgotten  that  he  had  not  tasted  a  mouthful 
that  day.  He  did  not  know  how  hungry  he  was  until 
he  sat  down  to  the  steaming  hot  coffee  and  the  excel 
lent  little  steak  and  potatoes  furnished  by  Miss 
Husted.  If  she  furnished  the  professor  with  food  for 
the  body,  she  also  furnished  him  with  food  for  the 
mind,  for  the  dear  good  lady  talked,  and  talked,  and 
talked.  Fortunately  Von  Earwig  was  a  good  listener; 
that  is,  he  had  the  faculty  of  thinking  of  something 

323 


else  than  what  was  being  said.  He  had  always  been 
the  repository  for  all  her  troubles,  but  until  to-day 
she  had  never  gone  so  far  as  to  confess  to  him  the  rea 
sons  why  she  had  never  married,  and  would  never 
marry,  not  if  the  last  man  in  the  world  asked  her. 
She  told  him  of  her  first  engagement  and  how  it  had 
resulted  disastrously,  how  she  had  loaned  the  object 
of  her  affections  large  sums  of  money,  until  finally 
he  ran  away,  leaving  her  penniless,  and  she  had  been 
compelled  to  work  for  a  living.  Von  Earwig  was 
very  sympathetic  that  morning  and  it  was  this  sym 
pathy  which  drew  her  out. 

"We  live  too  much  in  the  past,  you  and  I,"  said  Von 
Earwig.  Then,  after  a  pause,  he  added:  "I,  too, 
have  had  a  loss.  You  live  in  your  loss,  I  in  mine. 
We  remember  what  we  should  forget  and  we  forget 
what  we  should  remember.  We  must  turn  to  the 
present,  the  here,  and  the  now;  the  living  claims  our 
attention,  not  the  dead.  What  is  gone  before  is  over 
and  done  with.  Have  done  with  it.  The  memory 
of  the  past  kills  the  present  and  the  future.  It  never 
cures  it.  Ah,  dear  lady,  live  in  the  present;  it's  your 
only  chance  of  happiness.  Jenny,  August  Poons, 
they  are  the  present!  Live  in  them,  don't  discount 
their  happiness,  your  own  happiness,  by  waiting  for 
some  impossible  future  for  your  niece.  It  is  in  them, 
my  dear  friend,  you  will  find  happiness.  It  is  in 
them  you  will  find  affection  and  love.  It  is  in  their 
joy  you  will  find  joy;  their  children  shall  be  your  chil 
dren.  Don't  deny  yourself  that  happiness!" 

Miss  Husted  was  silent  for  a  long  while.  Von  Bar- 

324 


Cfjapter  STtoentp-four 

wig  took  her  hand  in  his,  speaking  in  a  low,  gentle 
voice.  "It  is  the  last  request  I  make  before  I  go  to 
morrow!" 

"Before  you  go!"  cried  Miss  Husted.  "Why, 
where  are  you  going?" 

Von  Earwig  still  held  her  hand  tenderly  clasped  in 
his.  He  looked  at  her  sadly,  but  made  no  answer. 

"Professor!"  she  gasped,  and  then  for  the  first  time 
she  noticed  that  his  trunk  was  outside  his  room; 
packed,  ready  to  go. 

"You're  going  away?"  she  wailed  pathetically. 
"You're  going  away?"  The  tears  came  to  her  eyes. 
"Where,  where  are  you  going?"  she  asked  in  a  tone 
of  entreaty.  "Where?  Where?" 

"Home,"  he  replied  simply. 

"Home?"  she  repeated  tearfully. 

"Home,  back  to  Leipsic.  My  life  here  is  over.  I 
should  have  gone  months  ago,  but  I  waited  to  see  a 
dear,  dear  pupil  married.  What  I  have  come  for 
is  accomplished,  and  now  I  go  back;  my  mission  is 
ended.  See,  I  have  bought  my  ticket,"  and  Von  Bar- 
wig  brought  out  his  ticket  to  show  her. 

Miss  Husted  was  fairly  stunned.  She  could  only 
look  at  him  in  silence. 

"Look!  see  my  ticket,"  repeated  Von  Earwig,  hand 
ing  it  to  her  to  look  at. 

"First-class?"  she  asked  plaintively.  She  always 
thought  for  her  dear  professor's  comfort. 

"Yes,  first-class  steamer,"  he  replied. 

"Why  it's  a  steerage  ticket!"  she  said,  looking 
closely  at  it. 

325 


ic  Jfflaster 

"Yes,  first-class  steerage!  Ach,  what  does  it  mat 
ter?  I  get  there  all  right,"  said  Von  Earwig.  "Here 
is  what  I  owe  you,  all  reckoned  up  to  the  penny! 
Here,"  and  he  thrust  a  small  roll  of  bills  in  her  hand. 

"Oh,  professor!"  wailed  Miss  Husted.  It  was  all 
she  could  say.  She  did  not  even  realise  that  he  had 
'given  her  money. 

"I  shall  not  tell  the  others  until  the  very  last  mo 
ment.  I'll  wake  them  up  before  daylight  and  say 
good-bye  to  them.  Ah,  it  is  not  easy  to  see  these  old 
friends  go  out;  one  by  one,  like  lamps  in  the  dark!" 

Miss  Husted  could  only  gaze  at  him  through  her 
tear-bedimmed  eyes  and  shake  her  head  mournfully. 
Von  Earwig  tried  to  cheer  her. 

"Come,  think  of  Jenny,  of  Poons!  New  thoughts, 
new  life,  a  new  family !  Now  I  say  good-bye  to  one 
or  two  good  neighbours,  to  Galazatti  and  the  grocer, 
and  the  poor  old  Schneider.  I'll  be  back.  I'll  be 
back,"  and  Von  Earwig  put  on  his  cloak  and  rushed 
off. 

How  long  Miss  Husted  sat  there  at  the  table  she 
never  knew;  she  was  too  stunned  to  think.  Going, 
her  dear  professor,  going !  It  could  not  be  true,  she 
would  not  believe  it!  But  she  had  seen  his  steam- 
'.  ship  ticket  and  there  was  his  trunk.  She  went  over 
to  the  little  portmanteau  and  saw  that  the  key  was 
in  the  lock.  She  opened  it  to  see  if  it  was  packed 
properly.  She  then  noticed  the  little  roll  of  bills  in 
her  hand  and  for  the  first  time  realised  that  it  was 
his  money  she  had  taken.  "Perhaps  it  is  his  last  few 
dollars,"  she  mourned.  She  stooped  down  and  secreted 

726 


Chapter  ®toentp=four 

the  money  in  one  of  the  pockets  of  his  Prince  Albert 
coat;  then  she  closed  the  lid  of  the  portmanteau.  As 
she  did  so  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and  giving 
way  completely  to  her  feelings,  she  knelt  by  the  little 
trunk  and  fairly  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 
When  Pinac,  Fico  and  Poons  returned  to  their  re 
spective  rooms  they  found  her  kneeling  by  the  trunk. 
When  they  spoke  to  her  she  pretended  to  be  singing 
a  worn-out  ditty  of  years  gone  by.  It  struck  the  men 
as  being  most  tearful  for  a  comic  song. 

It  was  some  time  before  Miss  Husted  had  suffi 
ciently  recovered  herself  to  knock  at  Poons's  door 
and  inform  him  that  she  had  withdrawn  her  opposi 
tion  to  his  marriage  with  her  niece.  How  she  made 
herself  understood  is  one  of  the  mysteries  and  must 
remain  so,  but  Poons  understood  and  felt  that  she 
was  now  his  friend.  With  a  boyish  shout  he  seized 
her  around  the  neck  and  hugged  her  so  tightly  and 
kissed  her  so  fervently  that  her  principal  curl  came 
near  severing  its  connection  with  the  portion  of  her 
hair  that  really  and  truly  belonged  to  her.  It  was 
not  until  she  had  slapped  his  face  several  times,  and 
told  him  she  was  to  be  his  aunt  and  not  his  sweetheart, 
that  he  released  her,  and  even  then  he  insisted  on 
holding  her  hand  and  telling  her  how  much  he  loved 
Jenny.  So  much  noise  did  the  boy  make  that  Pinac 
and  Fico  rushed  out  of  their  room  to  find  out  what 
was  the  matter. 

Poons's  explanation  to  them  was  nearly  as  lucid  as 
his  previous  effort  to  enlighten  Miss  Husted.  He 
threw  his  arms  around  their  necks  and  kissed  them 

327 


faster 

on  both  cheeks  and  danced  them  around  the  room. 
He  pointed  to  Miss  Husted  and  tried  to  kiss  her 
again,  just  to  show  his  friends  the  relationship  between 
them,  but  that  good  lady  had  had  enough  of  Poons's 
osculatory  manifestations  and  indignantly  threatened 
to  slap  him  again  if  he  tried  to  carry  on  with  her! 
Jenny  joined  them  and  there  was  more  explaining  and  v 
still  more  kissing.  When  Von  Earwig  came  back  he 
found  them  all  in  an  uproar  congratulating  each  other 
in  mixed  American  and  Continental  fashion.  His 
presence  added  to  the  general  joy.  He  kissed  Jenny 
tenderly  and  formally  gave  her  to  Poons.  He 
squeezed  Miss  Husted's  hand  in  silence  as  he  realised 
that  his  efforts  on  behalf  of  the  young  couple  had 
been  successful  and  he  shook  hands  with  his  friends. 

"It  is  a  day  of  rejoicing,  so  let  us  rejoice !"  said  Von 
Earwig,  as  he  emerged  from  his  little  room  with  a 
violin  bow  and  some  music  in  his  hand.  He  then 
took  a  ring  off  his  finger.  "Poons,  here !  This  ring' 
was  given  me  by  your  father  twenty-five  years  ago. 
Wear  it  for  my  sake !  For  you,  Pinac,  my  Mendels 
sohn  Concerto.  See,  here  is  Mendelssohn's  own  sig 
nature  !  Fico,  here  is  my  Tuart  bow.  It  is  broken 
in  two  places,  but  it  is  a  fine  bow." 

"What  is  all  this?"  asked  Pinac. 

"It  is  my  birthday!"  replied  Von  Earwig,  slightly 
at  a  loss  for  an  answer. 

"Your  birthday  is  next  month,  Anton,"  said  Fico. 

"Well,  I  celebrate  it  now!  It  is  my  birthday,  I 
celebrate  it  when  I  please.  Come,  no  more  questions, 
let  us  make  this  a  day  of  rejoicing !  Come,  wish  me 

328 


Chapter 

luck!     Your  hands  in  mine,  boys,  and  wish  me  luck 
and  God-speed!" 

They  did  not  understand,  but  did  as  he  asked  them. 
Miss  Husted  and  Jenny  understood,  and  they  were 
sad  and  silent  as  they  watched  the  men  wish  Von  Bar* 
wig  good  luck.  As  they  stood  there,  clasping  each 
other  by  the  hands  and  singing  one  of  their  glees, 
Thurza  rushed  up  stairs  and  shouted:  "Some  one  to 
see  Miss  Husted."  The  good  lady  invited  them  all 
downstairs  to  her  room  to  have  a  glass  of  wine  in 
honour  of  the  occasion,  and  disappeared  below 
stairs,  followed  by  the  men.  Von  Earwig  promised 
to  join  them  later,  but  now  he  wanted  to  be  alone. 

After  they  had  gone  he  seated  himself  by  the  stove. 

"All  is  finished,"  he  thought.  "Helene  is  married;  a 
happy  marriage.  Jenny  and  Poons  are  provided  for,  so 
my  work  is  done.  To-morrow  I  shall  be  here  no  longer ! 
Leipsic,  once  more  Leipsic.  Heimweh,  Heimweh!" 

Although  he  spoke  habitually  in  English,  he  thought 
in  the  German  language.  How  strange  it  all  seemed ! 
The  music  of  his  last  symphony  had  been  running 
through  his  head  all  morning.  He  could  hear  it 
plainly. 

"I  pick  up  the  pieces  of  my  life  where  I  left  off,"  he 
mused.  "Back  to  Leipsic  I  go.  How  strange  it  will 
seem  after  all  these  years?  Home,  home;  the  thought x 
soothed  him.  He  was  tired  out,  for  he  had  been 
awake  since  early  dawn  and  the  food  he  had  eaten 
and  the  warm  glow  of  the  fire  on  his  face  made  him 
drowsy.  With  the  music  of  his  last  symphony  echo 
ing  in  his  mind,  the  old  man  fell  asleep. 

329 


Chapter 

ITHOUT  doubt  it  was  one  of  the  largest  and 
most  fashionable  weddings  ever  given  in 
New  York's  social  history.  Society  at 
tended  en  masse,  not  so  much  because  it  was  the 
fashionable  thing  to  do,  as  that  the  young  people  were 
great  favourites  in  their  world. 

The  wedding  breakfast  was  a  crowded  affair,  and 
both  Helene  and  her  husband  were  glad  when  that 
function  was  finished,  and  the  business  of  receiving 
congratulations  and  saying  good-byes  was  over  and 
done  with. 

The  steamer  on  which  they  were  going  to  Europe 
was  to  sail  in  three  hours. 

"Let  us  go  early,  and  escape  from  our  friends," 
whispered  Beverly  to  his  bride. 

"I  must  have  an  interview  with  my  father  before  I 
go.  I  must!"  said  Helene.  Then  she  added  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  strangely  harsh,  "He  has  avoided 
me  ever  since  the  ceremony!" 

Beverly  Cruger  had  noticed  that  Helene  was  ner 
vous  and  emotional,  and  he  attributed  it  to  the  excite 
ment  of  the  moment.  But  the  deep-drawn  lines  of 
her  mouth  and  the  stern  look  in  her  eye  indicated 
anger  and  deep-seated  determination,  rather  than 
mere  excitement. 

"What  is  it,  darling?"  he  asked  tenderly.  "Can't 
you  trust  me?" 

330 


Chapter  3Ctoentp=ftbe 

"My  father  has  purposely  avoided  me,"  she  replied.. 
"He  knows  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  see  him,n 
and  Helene  then  told  her  husband  of  her  recognition 
of  Von  Earwig  in  church.  "I  have  mourned  for  him 
as  one  dead  and  gone,  and  when  I  saw  him  to-day 
rising  up  like  a  spectre,  as  if  reproaching  me  for  my 
neglect,  I  was  terribly  overcome.  Oh,  Beverly,  I 
can't  explain,  I  don't  understand  why,  but  I  think 
of  him  constantly,  and  my  heart  goes  out  to  him  I 
Even  at  this  moment  I  am  haunted  by  the  thought 
of  his  dear,  sweet,  gentle  smile.  Why  did  my  father 
tell  me  he  was  dead?  There  is  some  mystery  con 
nected  with  Herr  Von  Earwig  that  I  am  determined 
to  find  out!  You'll  help  me,  won't  you?  I  mean, 
you'll  be  patient  with  my — my  unaccountable 
anxiety?"  Beverly  nodded. 

"Of  course  I  will,"  he  said.  "Aren't  you  my  wife?" 
"Somehow  or  other,"  Helene  went  on,  almost  un 
conscious  of  Beverly's  presence,  "I  feel  sure  that  he 
is  in  some  way  connected  with  my  mother.  I  know 
you'll  think  I'm  foolish,  but  whenever  I  look  at  her 
portrait  I  think  of  him.  Why  should  I  think  of 
him,  unless — "  Helene  paused.  "I  shall  never  forget 
that  day,  the  day  I  dismissed  him.  He  stood  at  the 
door  gazing  at  her  portrait,  the  tears  running  down 
his  cheeks,  and  oh,  such  a  sad,  sad,  longing  expres 
sion  on  his  face !  Why  should  the  sight  of  my  mother's 
portrait  make  him  cry?  What  is  he  to  her,  Beverly?" 
Beverly  shook  his  head.  "I  wish  to  God  I  hadn't 
sent  him  away,"  moaned  Helene.  "What  is  this  man 
to  me  that  even  the  memory  of  his  face  makes  me 

331 


Jfflusrtc 

suffer!  To-day  of  all  days  I  should  be  happy,  but 
I'm  miserable,  miserable,  miserable!" 

"If  Mr.  Stanton  knows,  he  must  tell  us,"  declared 
Beverly  emphatically. 

uYes,  he  shall  tell  us!"  echoed  Helene.  "Let's  go 
to  him  and  demand  the  truth." 

"You  stay  here,  Helene!     I'll  bring  him  to  you." 

Three  minutes  later  Beverly  had  found  his  father-in- 
law  surrounded  by  friends,  and  had  taken  him  by  the 
arm  and  led  him  to  Helene's  room.  It  was  the  room 
in  which  the  old  music  master  had  given  her  lessons 
on  the  piano.  Helene  now  confronted  him;  and  Bev 
erly  going  up  to  her  stood  beside  her  as  if  to  protect 
his  wife. 

"Why  did  you  tell  me  he  was  dead?"  demanded 
Helene.  Stanton  was  silent. 

"You  must  tell  her,  sir,"  said  Beverly.  "It  is  neces 
sary  for  her  peace  of  mind !" 

"It  is  necessary  for  her  peace  of  mind  that  I  remain 
silent,"  said  Stanton. 

"But  she  is  suffering!"  cried  Beverly. 

"She'll  suffer  more  if  I  tell  her  the  truth,"  and  Stan- 
ton  turned  to  go. 

"One  moment,  sir,"  and  Beverly  laid  his  hand  gently 
on  Mr.  Stanton's  arm;  "you  must  answer,  this  uncer 
tainty  and  suspense  must  come  to  an  end." 

"What  is  he  to  me?  Tell  me!"  entreated  Helene. 
"Father,  father,  won't  you  tell  me?  for  God's  sake 
tell  me!"  and  Helene  clasped  him  by  the  arm. 

"Tell  her,  sir,"  said  Beverly  in  a  commanding  voice. 

"I — I  cannot,"  faltered  Stanton;  "it's  impossible!" 

332 


Chapter 

"Then  I'll  find  out  from  him,"  cried  Helene. 
Stanton  realised  that  he  was  cornered. 

"Find  out  what  you  please,  from  whom  you  please," 
he  said  harshly. 

"We'll  go  to  him;  he'll  tell  us.  We  should  have 
done  that  at  first,"  and  Helene  turned  to  Beverly. 

"I  warn  you,  you'll  bring  untold  misery  on  your 
head!"  shouted  Stanton.  He  was  infuriated  at  the 
idea  of  his  authority  being  ignored. 

"We  want  the  truth,  the  truth!"  cried  Helene. 

Stanton  was  now  beside  himself  with  rage.  "Then 
have  it;  have  it!"  The  words  came  in  short  gasps. 
"And  pay  the  price  for  it!  The  man  is  your  father! 
Now  you  know  the  truth;  you  can  get  the  details 
from  him!"  and  Stanton  went  out  slamming  the  door 
behind  him,  the  same  door  through  which  Von 
Barwig  had  gone  out  in  despair  the  day  that  Helene 
dismissed  him. 

"Herr  Von  Barwig  my  father!  My  father!" 
Helene  sank  on  her  knees  and  clasped  her  hands. 
She  was  trembling  with  joy.  "Thank  God!  Thank 

God!    Thank  God!" 

***** 

As  Von  Barwig  partially  awoke  from  his  sleep  he 
became  dimly  conscious  that  he  was  not  alone.  With 
out  opening  his  eyes  he  realised  where  he  was,  and 
that  he  was  still  sitting  by  the  stove,  for  he  felt  the 
glare  of  the  fire  on  his  face,  and  his  immediate  sur 
roundings  were  familiar.  The  snow  on  the  glass  roof 
above,  the  portmanteau  outside  his  bedroom  door, 
packed  and  ready  to  go ;  the  broken  balustrade  at  the 

333 


JWusic  jilatfter 

back  of  the  hallway,  the  sink  in  the  corner,  the  shelf 
with  the  lamps  on  it;  all  these  familiar  objects  seemed 
to  be  present  without  his  looking  directly  at  them. 
But  there  was  something  else,  for  a  dim  figure  hov 
ered  over  him  like  an  angel  beckoning  him  to  a  fairer, 
I  happier  land;  and  the  perfume  of  flowrers  seemed  to 
1  fill  the  room. 

"I  sleep,"  said  Von  Earwig  to  himself,  "but  I  shall 
soon  wake,  and  then — it  will  go."  Soon  the  figure 
began  to  take  form  and  to  his  half-conscious  mind  it 
seemed  to  assume  the  shape  of  his  dead  wife.  It  was 
her  face,  her  figure  as  he  had  known  her  many,  many 
years  ago. 

"Elene,  Elene!"  he  murmured,  uyou  have  come  to 
take  me  away  from  this  place.  Oh,  God,  I  hope  I 
never  wake  up!" 

The  figure  now  stretched  out  its  arms,  and  seemed 
to  be  handing  Von  Earwig  a  bunch  of  flowers.  The 
old  man's  eyes  were  fully  opened  now,  and,  as  he 
gazed  up,  he  recognised  the  face  of  his  beloved  pupil. 
Then  he  knew  that  he  was  not  sleeping.  The  dream 
ing  and  waking  process  had  probably  occupied  but  a 
few  seconds  of  time,  but  it  seemed  to  Von  Earwig 
to  have  lasted  many  hours.  Helene  was  looking 
/  down  at  him  now  as  he  sat  there,  her  great  blue  eyes 
suffused  with  tears.  She  beamed  tenderness  and  love 
upon  him  and  her  outstretched  hand  held  a  bunch 
of  orange  blossoms.  * 

"You  didn't  seek  me  out  to-day,  so  I  came  to  you," 
she  said  in  a  low,  tender  voice.  "I  have  brought  you 
my  orange  blossoms  1" 

334 


Chapter  ®toentp=fibe 

Von  Earwig  did  not  speak.  Another  figure  now 
outlined  itself  to  his  vision  and  became  flesh  and 
blood — the  figure  of  Beverly  Cruger. 

It  seemed  to  Von  Earwig  that  young  Mr.  Cruger, 
looked  pale  and  anxious. 

"What  does  he  know?"  the  old  man  asked  himself. 
"Is  he  here  to  find  out?"  and  in  that  moment  he  de 
termined  to  keep  his  secret. 

Helene  waited  for  Von  Earwig  to  speak,  but  he  re 
mained  silent. 

"You  must  think  it  strange  that  I  should  call  upon 
you  to-day  of  all  days,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head 
sadly,  "and  that  I  should  bring  my — my  husband 
with  me."  She  looked  around  at  Beverly  and  he 
smiled  approvingly.  "But  I  am  going  away,  Herr 
Von  Earwig,  and  it  would  be  very  sad  if  we  never  met 
again;  wouldn't  it?" 

Von  Earwig  still  looked  at  her  sadly,  smilingly, 
but  did  not'  speak. 

"I  feel,"  she  went  on  sadly,  "I  always  have  felt 
that  you  never  meant  to  see  rne  again."  Von 
Earwig  nodded;  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  speak 
now. 

"What  does  she  know?  What  does  she  know?"  he 
asked  himself.  "Shall  her  mother's  disgrace  fall  on 
her  young  shoulders  as  a  wedding  gift  from  me? 
No,  no,  no!" 

Again  the  girl  spoke:  "I  am  beginning  life  all  over 
again;  from  to-day,"  she  said. 

"Ah,  that  is  right!"  murmured  Von  Earwig. 

"We  were  going  to  spend  our  honeymoon  in  Paris/* 

335 


said  Helene  in  a  curiously  strained  voice,  for  it  was 
all  she  could  do  to  keep  back  her  tears;  "but  now  we 
have  changed  our  plans !  We  are  going  to  the  little 
town  where  I  was  born." 

Von  Earwig  drew  a  deep  breath  and  nodded 
"So?" 

"We  are  going  to  Leipsic,"  and  Helene  Crugef 
looked  closely,  anxiously,  into  the  old  man's  face. 
No  sign  of  recognition  was  there. 

"Shall  we  go?"  she  asked  after  a  pause.  He  shook 
his  head. 

"Don't  go!"  he  said  simply. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Helene,  as  if  his  answer  meant  9 
great  deal  to  her. 

"Leipsic  is  not  a — a  pleasant  place  for  honey 
moons,"  he  replied  evasively. 

"That's  just  what — my — my  father  said."  She  was 
watching  him  closely  now.  The  expression  on  Von 
Earwig's  face  was  unchanged. 

"Your  father  is — right,"  he  said  finally. 

"I  told  him  to-day  after  the  service,"  said  Helene, 
"that  we  were  going  to  Leipsic,  and  he  tried  to  make 
me  promise  not  to  go.  When  I  refused,  he  forbade 
me  to  go,  but  he  can't  forbid  me  any  more;  he  is  be 
ginning  to  understand  that  for  the  first  time  to-day." 
She  spoke  now  with  a  deep-rooted  sense  of  injury 
Von  Earwig  could  only  nod.  He  knew  now  that  she 
had  made  some  discovery. 

"It's  so  easy  to  deceive  a  child,"  continued  Helene 
in  a  voice  that  must  have  betrayed  the  great  depth  of 
her  feelings.  "A  child  believes  everything  you  tell 

336 


Chapter  ®toentp=ftfoe 

it.  It  will  grow  up  on  lies,  but  when  that  child 
is  older  and  a  woman,  then  the  truth  comes  out  I 
Herr  Von  Earwig,  the  truth  comes  out!"  She 
looked  him  full  in  the  face,  but  still  there  was  no 
sign. 

"What  truth?"  faltered  the  old  man.  He  realised 
now  that  she  knew;  but  exactly  what  did  she  know? 

"You  ask  me  that?"  she  said  sadly.  "You,  my — 
my — old  music  master!" 

"A  music  master  who  taught  you  nothing,"  he  said 
evasively. 

"Shall  I  go  to  Leipsic?"  asked  Helene. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head.  "No !"  he  articulated 
faintly. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Helene.  There  was  no  re 
ply.  "And  you  won't  tell  me  why?" 

"I  have  told  you,"  faltered  Von  Earwig. 

"What  have  I  done,  what  have  I  done!"  cried 
Helene,  "that  you  won't  claim  me?"  Her  voice  was 
now  choked  with  sobs  and  she  no  longer  made  any 
effort  to  restrain  them.  "He  wouldn't  tell  me  either; 
he  referred  me  to  you.  What  have  I  done?  I  have 
waited  and  waited  and  waited,  but  you  won't  speak ! 
You  knew  me  from  the  first.  You  must  have  known 
;me  from  the  likeness.  I  was  under  your  roof,  you 
were  under  mine ;  but  you  wouldn't  claim  me.  There 
is  some  disgrace !"  The  old  man  nodded.  "Ah,  then 
it's  my  mother!"  cried  Helene. 

"Your  mother?  No!  No!"  cried  Von  Earwig. 
"No !  she  was  an  angel;  an  angel  of  goodness,  of  pur- 
ity." 

337 


Jflustc  faster 

"Then  what  are  you  concealing?'5  cried  Helene; 
"of  what  are  you  ashamed?  Of  what  is  he 
ashamed?" 

Von  Earwig  rocked  himself  in  agony,  but  at  last 
he  forced  himself  to  speak. 

"It's  a  little  story  of  life,  of  love — foolishness;  oi 
— of  folly.  Ah,  it  is  ended,  ended!"  wailed  the  old 
man.  "It  is  over  and  done  with.  Why  should  we 
bring  it  out  into  the  daylight  when  it  has  slept  so  long 
over  there  in  Leipsic.  Surely  it  has  slept  itself  into 
silence.  No !  no !  The  secret  is  buried  there  in  Leip 
sic.  I — I  put  these  orange  blossoms  on  its  grave!" 
and  Von  Earwig  gently  took  the  flowers  from  her. 
"I  take  them  back  to  Leipsic;  a  little  token  of  silence 
she  would  love." 

"Now  I  know  why  she  cried  so  constantly,"  sobbed 
Helene.  "She  was  thinking  of  you !"  She  grasped 
his  hand  and  looked  pleadingly  into  his  face. 
"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this 
man?" 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head.  "Silence  is  best !  The 
marriage  is  over;  I  have  the  orange  blossoms,"  and 
the  old  man  kissed  them  tenderly. 

"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this 
man?"  entreated  Helene. 

"Your  husband,  what  does  he  say?"  said  Von  Bar- 
wig,  in  a  low  voice.  He  felt  he  could  not  restrain 
himself  much  longer. 

Beverly  came  forward.  "He  says:  'Who  giveth 
this  woman  to  be  married  to  this  man?'  ' 

Von  Earwig  shook  his  head.  The  tears  were  run- 

338 


C&apter  <Etoentp=ftbe 

ning  down  his  cheeks,  and  when  he  tried  to  withdraw: 
his  hand  from  hers  Helene  refused  to  let  it  go. 

"Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married  to  this 
man?"  she  said  entreatingly. 

Von  Earwig  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 
"Well,  perhaps  I  do,"  he  said  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  emotion;  "perhaps  I  do!"  Taking  her  in  his 
arms,  he  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"At  last,  at  last !  My  little  Elene !  My  little  baby — 
my  little  baby!" 

"Father,  father!"  was  all  Helene  could  say.  Bev 
erly  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"Now  we  mend  that  doll  with  the  broken  eye,"  said 
the  old  man,  gulping  down  a  sob  and  smiling  through 
his  tears. 

"Yes,  father,"  and  Helene  took  his  face  between  her 
two  hands. 

"Say  it  again!"  he  murmured.  "It  is  the  sound  I 
have  listened  for  these  sixteen  years." 

"Father!"  repeated  Helene. 

Beverly  looked  at  his  watch.  "The  steamer  leaves 
in  less  than  an  hour,"  he  said.  "How  long  will  it 
take  you  to  pack?"  he  asked.  "You  are  going  with 
us  now,  father,"  he  added,  patting  the  old  man  on 
the  back  and  shaking  him  by  the  hand.  Von  Barwig 
seemed  dazed. 

"Come,  father,"  pleaded  Helene,  "no  foolish 
pride!  My  home  is  your  home  after  this.  Now 
don't  hesitate!" 

"Hesitate?  I,  hesitate?"  and  rushing  to  the  stair 
way  the  old  man  shouted  loudly  for  Miss  Husted. 

339 


(Efje  jSWutftc  faster 

Poons  was  just  coming  up  the  stairs  to  find  out  why 
Von  Earwig  didn't  come  down  to  drink  Jenny's 
health.  Von  Earwig  gave  him  a  message  .which 
brought  them  all  up  in  breathless  haste. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cruger  had  gone  below,  and  Von 
Earwig  had  finished  packing  and  was  locking  his 
portmanteau  as  his  friends  stood  around  begging  him 
to  tell  them  why  he  was  going  and  where. 

"I  go  on  a  honeymoon,"  he  said,  and  they  all 
laughed.  "I  go  home,"  he  added.  "No  cruel  fare 
wells,  no  sad  partings!  Jenny  will  tell  you.  I  am 
called  away.  Sit  down,  all  of  you,  where  you  always 
sit.  Fico,  your  mandolin;  Pinac,  your  violin! 
Poons,  your  'cello!"  They  did  as  he  asked  them, 
"So,  now!  Play,  sing,  be  happy,  just  as  always! 
Come,  the  old  dinner  song  we  always  sang ;  let  it  ring 
in  my  ears  as  I  go!"  Though  their  hearts  were 
heavy,  they  burst  into  their  oft-sung  glee,  Miss 
Husted  and  Jenny  joining  in  the  chorus. 

"So,  so !"  murmured  the  old  man,  beating  time  and 
smiling  approval.  "I  want  to  go  away  seeing  you 
all  happy,  as  happy  as  I  am,  smiling,  happy  faces!" 

"You  will  come  back?"  whispered  Jenny  as  the  old 
man  kissed  her  tenderly. 

"I  come  back,"  he  said  gently,  "I  come  back!  Good 
bye,  good-bye  all  of  you !  Yes,  I  come  back,  I  come 
back,"  and  Anton  Von  Earwig  disappeared  down 
the  stairs  and  out  of  their  lives.  His  eyes  were  still 
wet  with  tears  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the  carriage. 
Helene  dried  them  with  a  beautiful  Duchesse  lace 
handkerchief. 

340 


Chapter 

"Don't  cry,  father,"  she  pleaded. 

"Ach,  I  don't  cry!"  said  the  old  man  as  he  patted 
her  hand.  UI— I— "  he  hesitated.  "When  I  think 
of  the  many,  many  kind  hearts  in  this  world — I — I 
just  feel  happy,  that's  all!" 


THE  END 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DA 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FTNin  run  «- 

w 


LOAN  DEPT. 


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(P2003slO)9412A-A-32 


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